


Communication

by TenTomatoes



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Because Thorin is an angst Bucket, Fluff, He's also embarrassing, I'll add characters as they appear - Freeform, M/M, Small hints of angst, plus maybe a few short interludes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-09 12:07:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4348220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TenTomatoes/pseuds/TenTomatoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5 times Thorin talked to Bilbo when he thought he was asleep and 1 time Bilbo did the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To Bree

Bilbo had very few regrets in life. Being a Hobbit mostly ensured this for they were simple creatures who, as long as they had good food, a warm house, and a big family, easily led a fulfilled and happy life. There may be small regrets, such as not eating more of Jessamine’s plum pie before she wrongly assumed a change in the recipe would be a good idea or tumbling around as a child too much and earning a nasty scar that would lead to years of rude name calling; but Hobbits were content people who lived mostly regretless lives.

Bilbo, seeing as he was a Hobbit, had followed this pattern quite well. He regretted ever letting Lobelia Sackville Baggins see his nice silverware, he regretted accidentally washing his nice red jacket with his even nicer white shirt, he regretted that the pie he baked for the one lass he wanted to court had berries she was allergic to in it. Very normal Hobbit regrets.

However, then a wizard came to the Shire and Bilbo completely gave up being a normal Hobbit.  

Bilbo found that now that he was an unusual Hobbit, he had an unusually large number of regrets and this whole adventuring business was about 100 of them. The first thing he came to regret was that he forgot his handkerchief at home (leading him to be ridiculed by the Dwarves when he wanted to go back and get it) and only hours after that he found out he would only get 2 meals a day ( _2,_ not even 3 like he had feared, it was even worse than he could imagine). His butt was sore from riding all day long and they weren't even to Bree, the Dwarves were either terrifying, aloof, or annoying (and he didn't know which he preferred), Gandalf kept laughing at him for no reason, and he had been rained on twice already.  

However, none of those (added all together) could possibly compared to how much he regretted ever meeting Thorin Oakenshield. He was the rudest, most arrogant person Bilbo had ever had the displeasure of meeting (and there were some nasty people in the Shire no matter what others thought). Thorin had walked into his home as though he owned it, insulted him even though he had supplied his companions with food and later shelter, and he then had the nerve to treat him like nothing more than some left over trash after he decided to help them on this quest. He would rarely speak or even look at Bilbo but when he did it always managed to be insulting and lead Thorin to angrily turn his head and ride away in silence as though it was he who had been insulted. Why, Bilbo would even go as far as to say he was ruder than all the Sackville-Baggins put together. Just because he was a king and he had a handsome face and majestic hair and beautiful blue eyes didn't mean he could act like everyone else was below him. If Bilbo wasn't sure the bald Dwarf that always rode near Thorin (was it Dwalin or Balin, or maybe one of the Ris) wouldn't stick an ax through him quicker than a hot knife through butter if he did anything funny, he would have marched straight up to Thorin and given him a piece of his mind.

At this moment he could see Thorin riding point at the head of the group, looking grandiose as ever (that prat). It was getting dark and they should be stopping soon but Thorin showed no sign of slowing down. He never did, he always forced them forward as though they had to be at the mountain in a week or it would disappear. It was only when Balin (Dwalin? the one with the big white beard) had a quick conversation with Thorin did he finally let his pony slow down to a stop in a place that looked nice enough to stay the night. He dismounted with a (annoying) flourish before turning to company with whatever orders he decided he needed to give. Thorin never gave Bilbo orders (which he didn’t know if he was grateful or angry about) so instead he wandered over to Bomber (who Bilbo had found was a pleasant person to talk to) to see if he needed any help in preparing dinner. Bilbo didn’t know much about life on the road but he did know food and he was happy to help in any way that he could.

Unfortunately, he never made it to Bomber’s side.

“Master Baggins,” Thorin called out in that infuriating superior way he did. “Go collect some firewood. It’s easy enough for a child so you must be able to do it. It will give you something to do other than complain as you like to do.”

(He did not just do that)

Some of the Dwarves snickered but Thorin turned away from Bilbo without another word and tended to his pony. Bilbo felt his face go red in equal parts anger and embarrassment.

(How dare that pig headed piece of)

Bilbo’s hands clenched at his sides and for a moment he entertained the (suicidal) idea of choosing this moment to stand up to Thorin but instead he turned on his heel and marched his way into the forest. He didn’t stop until he couldn’t hear the laughter of the Dwarves anymore.

He muttered to himself as he picked up his sticks, cursing Thorin Oakenshield in every way he knew how to. The anger that was curling in his stomach burned and made his hands shake. He wanted to scream.

Yet, as he time passed and he cooled down he began to realize that no matter how rudely he had said it, Thorin wasn’t wrong. He did complain a lot and he wasn’t really all that more skilled than a child when it came to this traveling and adventuring business. His insides that were once twisted in anger relaxed and began to twist in a different way. In a sadder way. A more regretful way.

When he returned to the camp he ignored Bomber’s sympathetic look, ate his meal as fast as possible, and went to bed a soon as he could without a word to anybody.

He laid with his eyes firmly shut and pretended to be asleep. He stayed as still as he could, back to the fire and Dwarves, and if he tried hard enough he could almost pretend he was back at Bag End.

 

The night passed and the Dwarves settled down for sleep, sleep that Bilbo was not getting. They established watch, put away their instruments, and snuggled into their bed rolls allowing for the day to officially be done. Bilbo had thought that now it was silent he would be able to drift off to sleep but he found he was wrong. Instead of peace the lack of noise only allowed for his thoughts to be louder. They crashed against his mind, reminding him of Thorin’s mocking orders, the snickers of the Dwarves, his own self-doubts. He wondered if he got up and left now how long it would take him to get back to Bag End.    

“Hobbit,” he suddenly heard Thorin’s voice harshly shatter the silence.

Bilbo almost popped straight up out of his bed roll (much like his heart had popped out of his chest) but his body froze where it laid the moment Thorin continued to speak.

“No, that’s not right. That will just be seen as threatening. Master Burglar. No. Bilbo Baggins. Master Baggins. Good enough,” he grumbled to himself before clearing his throat.

“Master Baggins, I would like to apologiz-. I would like to make clear the situation that-. I would like to apologize for the way I have treated you, today and the days before that. You have joined this quest when you have no reason to and I believe that to be an honorable thing. But that's the problem because you seem to be an honorless creature. Wait no, that’s wrong. You're not honorless,” Thorin let out an angry and frustrated huff.

Thorin, Bilbo realized, was talking to him. Or at least he was pretending to talk to him. He was practicing.

Bilbo wanted to laugh but he was too flabbergasted to remember how to do much of anything. The almighty leader of this quest was currently pacing back and forth in the dirt, worrying about how to talk to him. Bilbo almost reached over and pinched himself to see if this was really happening or if it was just some strange dream his subconscious had bestowed upon him.

“Master Hobbit,” Thorin began again. “I would like to say you are very honorable for coming on this quest even though you are clearly unsuitable for this and do not belong here. Damn, I insulted you again.”

It was actually almost sweet of him, Bilbo thought, if he ignored how ridiculous and odd it was for Thorin to be stumbling over his words as he pretended to talk to him. He should probably pretend to wake up to save Thorin from further embarrassment (like hell he would) but the urge to hear what he was going to say was too much. So far it had been mostly insults and he did that often enough when Bilbo was awake, there was no reason for him to wait till he was sleeping. There had to be something else.

Suddenly, Thorin let out a long suffering sigh and he sat down on the log next to Bilbo’s bed roll. Bilbo braced himself for what he would say, he expected more insults maybe another halfhearted apology, but he didn’t expect the soft, sincere, and absolutely bewildered words that came next.

“I do not understand you, Master Baggins. I do not understand why you came with us when even many of my kin and close friends would not. You have no reason for being here, nor do you seem to enjoy it. Do you think this is just some vacation from your little home? Are you here simply to see the world or some other naive reason? I would be thankful for you joining with us if I could understand why you joined in the first place. I do not trust easily. In my experience trust has only ever been something broken. I do not trust you Master Hobbit. Again I am insulting you,” Thorin let out a groan.

“I don’t mean for this to happen. Though you are weak and soft, no again. It seems I’m unable to speak to you for more than a few seconds without managing to belittle you in some way. I’ve never had a silver tongue a king should have.”

The last line was said quietly, almost conspiratorially. The idea of Thorin whispering secrets to him in the middle of the night was surprisingly nice, it made him feel almost as though they were friends. If only Bilbo didn’t have to pretend to be sleeping for this conversation to happen.

Bilbo heard Thorin stand up from his log.

“I do not wish to mistrust you Master Baggins. I simply do not know how not to.”

With those final words he walked away, off to check the perimeter or perhaps even have a one sided conversation with someone else in the company. Bilbo opened his eyes the moment he was sure Thorin was far enough not to see. Without Thorin there, Bilbo was left with only his thoughts once again and boy were they company right now. Much better company than they had been before.

His mind whirled, trying to make sense what had just been said. He ran through Thorin’s words over and over until he concluded three things:

1\.  Thorin didn’t know how to _not_ insult him

2\. Thorin didn’t mean to insult him all the time and was slightly sorry for it

(This of course didn’t mean he no longer felt insulted, but oddly enough he was rather pacified by the idea that it was all an accident)   

3\. Thorin didn’t know why he was here

Well, that made sense, seeing as Bilbo didn’t really know why he was here either. It was a split second decision that he spent almost every waking moment regretting. Why _was_ he here?

He had better figure that out before Thorin asked him about it tomorrow. He had his practice for the conversation but Bilbo still didn’t know how he would be able to add to it. Bilbo settled into his bedroll planning out his responses. He felt excitement flood through his veins at the idea of having this conversation again, only being able to respond this time.

   

The next day Bilbo woke up completely unrefreshed, he had spent too much time thinking about what to say to Thorin his mind wouldn’t let him sleep (but that wasn’t really a problem seeing as he probably wouldn’t have gotten much sleep last night with or without Thorin’s midnight talk). But it was worth it because he was completely prepared for Thorin to approach him. There would be no floundering or stuttering. Just a clear, civilized conversation between two adults over misconceptions and confusion.

When he woke his eyes automatically found where Thorin was discussing something the whitebeardedalin, his face was scrunched and scowling like always and for a moment Bilbo wondered what Thorin's face had looked like last night when he was whispering softly. Surely he couldn't have been scowling even then. He wondered if he would make the same faces when they talked today. The thought made Bilbo's stomach do a small turn. Thorin looked up and their eyes met and anticipation bubbled in his stomach. Bilbo’s breath caught when Thorin parted his lips, he was going to call him over to talk. This was going to happen. But then he closed his mouth and turned away.

"We're moving now Master Baggins. Get up." He said.

That wasn't right. Bilbo frowned to himself as he began to collect his things. Maybe later. Maybe he was saving it for when they were on the road. Or maybe when they set up camp that night. Later was fine, Bilbo could wait.

 

Thorin never came to talk to him.

 


	2. In Rivendell

Rivendell, Bilbo had decided, was where he was going to spend the rest of his life. As much as he loved his Bag End and missed it all the more every step he took away from it, if he survived this quest he would turn right around and make his way back to Rivendell and never take another step. He would spend every moment of his life eating, writing, singing, and thinking with the Elves of Elrond’s House and never have to deal with another problem (or Dwarves) ever again. It was an absurd idea (especially the whole surviving part) but as Bilbo sat in the exceptional library found in Rivendell, calmly flipping through a book, he was willing to believe it would become a reality. It was peaceful in the library, the only sounds were from the soft rustle of old parchment as pages were flipped and the soothing scraping of Ori’s pen as he wrote with fervor in his journal. Ori was, as Bilbo had found, one of the more reasonable and proper Dwarves in the company (which mostly meant he didn’t scowl and grunt at him whenever he was close enough to make eye contact) and they had struck up a peculiar but comfortable friendship over a shared love of stories and literature. And so when Bilbo had decided to sneak away to the library it only seemed right to invite Ori with him. Together they had gushed and marveled at the sheer size of it, had a lovely chat with the Elf in charge who had gave them some wonderful suggestions, and each settled down with a large tome and spent what felt like hours just reading in peace, only breaking it to grab a new book or share a particularly interesting section.  

Yes, Rivendell was wonderful.

His only regret was that he had to come here with Dwarves.

 

“Here they are,” Kili’s loud voice seemed to echo in the quiet of the room.

Bilbo startled out of his reverie and looked up to see Kili leaning up against their table coolly. He was staring at them with a look of amusement which meant nothing good was about to happen. And if Kili was here that meant-.

“All this worrying and we find them squirreled away with some dusty books.”

And there was Fili, annoyingly popping up right behind him, causing him to jump. Bilbo scowled at them as Fili sauntered up to join his brother at the head of the table.

“Is there a problem?” Bilbo asked.

“Yeah, you better get back with the others. Thorin’s really angry-”

(When is he not?)

“About you guys going missing. Thinking the Elves are stealing our precious Hobbit away from us,” Fili said.

“And,” Kili said as they turned their grins to Ori. “One of our very own Dwarves it looks like.”

“That’s preposterous. Steal us away? What kind of things go on in your heads to think these things?” Bilbo said before they could start leaning into Ori more.

Fili and Kili actually started pouting as though they were nothing more than fauntlings.

 

Dwarves were absolutely ridiculous in every single way, a fact Bilbo was becoming all too familiar with. He could have ignored all their strange ways and annoying ticks if not for the fact they were interfering with Bilbo's enjoyment of  Rivendell.

First of all they had this unbearable suspicion of everyone. If an Elf even looked at them funny (which happened quite often seeing as they were _Dwarves_ in _Rivendell_ ) they went into defense formation with a harsh cry and Bilbo found himself thrown in the middle of a clump of weapons and angry Dwarves (of course the first time it had happened Bilbo was actually terrified out of his mind by the galloping horses and giant Elves and was actually thankful to be pulled into the safe Dwarf shield but by the eighth time of being grabbed when he just wanted to get something to get eat he was ready to bash some heads in (or at least wag his finger at them)). Not only that, but their horrible suspicion made them absolutely refuse to let Bilbo go anywhere they considered unsafe. And because they were Dwarves, that meant anywhere with Elves. Every time he wanted to explore he had to sneak away only to be tracked by the hoard of Dwarves who acted like he was going to disappear into the Elves secret dungeons and be tortured to the end of his days (which in honesty would be less painful than watching these Dwarves try to sneak around him).    

Second they were absolutely rude to the Elves. The dinner (and every meal after that) was a perfect example. The way they insulted their music and complained about the food set Bilbo’s respectable Baggins blood boiling. It was barbaric and it reminded him too much of the horrid night they had invaded his own home. He didn’t wish that on anyone. And sure the Elves could be rather rude to them what with the lack of meat and the speaking to them in languages they didn’t know and sneering at them when they passed each other in the halls, but a little bit (okay a lot of) rudeness didn’t excuse rudeness in return. If Bilbo had been rude to every Hobbit that whispered things about him or simply tried to use him for his money then he would be known as the rudest Hobbit in the Shire. Someday he would have to sit these Dwarves down and teach them proper etiquette when dealing with someone you hate. Perhaps Elf-Dwarf relations would improve if one of them could simply get ahold of their childish mannerisms.        

Third, they were just plain difficult. Lord Elrond had graciously offered them each a nice room with an absolutely heavenly bed to sleep on (Bilbo almost cried when he heard that after a month of bed rolls and dirt) and the ridiculous Dwarves had the gall to refuse him. Instead they gathered in a random room (that they promptly destroyed) and huddled on the ground as though they were still on the road. Bilbo was offended on Elrond’s behalf and refused to join their odd display of Dwarvish pride. He was going to enjoy the nice bed and clean sheets as long as he could (and enjoy them he did).

And finally they had apparently had a secret meeting where they had decided that the Elves were trying their hardest to steal Bilbo away from them. That meant that when he tried to sneak away they tried even harder to keep him with them. If he was having a nice conversation with Lindir, one of them would pop up and whisk him away. If one of the Elves offered to show him the gardens, Bifur would swoop in to show him them himself (it had been surprisingly nice to walk with Bifur and he believed they could become good friends if they could ever find a way to communicate). And if Elrond had extended an invitation to stay and the Elves were making it very hard to leave then that was no business of the Dwarves. Bilbo was a Hobbit of his word and he had signed a contract, he wasn’t going to back out now (even though he really wished he could). So the Dwarves could just leave him alone.

All Bilbo wanted to do was have a relaxing time and it seemed like the Dwarves were doing their best to make that impossible.

 

“Don’t trust the Elves Bilbo. They’ll charm you with their weird music and pretty faces and you’ll never leave again,” Kili said.

(Would that be such a bad thing?)

“You best be getting back, Thorin is already angry about you sneaking away, if you don't turn up soon he’ll just get even angrier and start yelling. And Nori and Dori have been looking all over for you freaking out,” Fili said.

Ori shrunk in shame as Bilbo huffed.

“I will stay right where I am because I am enjoying this book. And you can tell your uncle that he can take his unreasonable suspicion and”

(Shove it up his ass)

“Get over it.”

Fili and Kili’s eyes almost bulged out of their sockets and they shared a look, probably silently arguing over who gets to tell Thorin Bilbo’s response.

Ori smiled at him softly as he stood up and gathered his things.

“I’m sorry Bilbo, but I better get back to Dori and Nori,” he said reluctantly.

Bilbo sighed, he had been enjoying Ori’s company.

“If you must, I won’t stop you but I do regret you leaving.”

Ori beamed at the admission but still hastily packed up his things, taking with him the books the librarian had given him. He nodded at Bilbo and then at Fili and Kili before scuttling away.  

Bilbo turned back to his own book and tried to immerse himself as he had been before the two brothers had shown up. The only problem was that said brothers were still there staring at him with wide eyes. Bilbo honestly tried to ignore them but they had a special (irritating) way to be loud when saying absolutely nothing.

“What are you two still doing here? Do you wish to look at a book?” Bilbo asked finally, resisting the temptation to throw the book at their heads.

“Thorin won’t like that you won’t stay with the rest of the company,” Fili said.

“Thorin doesn’t like anything that I do for some reason. And I’m quite aware, as are you I’m sure, that Thorin doesn’t consider me anything but a burden, let alone part of this company. I don’t see any reason for him to be worrying. I think he’d be glad for me to stay here. One less thing to worry about,” Bilbo huffed out, not even caring when Fili and Kili winced and shared a look.

“Mr. Boggins,” Kili started. The use of his mistaken name (that had as of late become an endearment from Kili) made Bilbo’s heart soften and him feel guilty at the way he had blown up at them. It wasn’t their fault Thorin treated him like he did.

“Thorin, he takes a long time to warm up to somebody, but he doesn’t hate you. And the rest of us, Thorin may treat you like you’re not, but you’re every bit as part of the company as each one of us,” Fili finished for him.

“Yeah, I mean you saved us from the trolls and you tell us great stories and even if you can’t do much we all enjoy having you with us,” Kili said passionately.

Bilbo’s heart warmed at their awkward but sincere comfort. It was nice to know even if Thorin hated him he still had friends in the company. He gave them both a warm smile that had them grinning back at him.

“Thank you both, but I will have plenty of time to be with all of you on the road. Who knows when I’ll be able to see Rivendell again?”

(If ever again)

“I’m sorry but I’m going to make the most of the small time I have here. You can tell Thorin that if he wants to talk to me he can find me here himself.”

And with that he turned back to his book and he heard the two brothers scuffle away muttering to each other. Bilbo’s smile didn’t fade for another few minutes as he once again lost himself in his book.

 

The next time he looked up he realized someone had lightened the lanterns that were scattered around the library. He looked to the windows and startled when he saw no sun light peeking through. How long had he been in here? The time on the road had quickly diminished the need for him to eat his normal meals but he could still feel a small ache that told him he had missed dinner. Bilbo grumbled to himself as he began to tidy up the small desk he had claimed as his own. Surely there was something in the kitchen he could sneak before he went off to bed.

(He spared a small second of regret that Thorin had apparently never came to talk with him himself, but only a second before he was sneering at how outlandish the idea was and promptly putting it out of his mind.)

Bilbo left library and walked towards where he believed the kitchens might be. Hobbits were always very good at finding food wherever it may be. As he wandered he began to marvel at the sight that was Rivendell in the dark.

Rivendell lost none of its beauty during the night, if possible, it only became more enchanting. Though the sun had set, Bilbo wouldn't say that it was dark, instead Rivendell seemed to have an inner light that washed over the stones and allowed to shadows to deepen and darken but never overwhelm. While it was quiet during the day, with elves silently moving through their routines and lack of conflict (save thoes inflicted by the Dwarves), the night lead to an even stiller quality to the air. Bilbo moved about as though he was the only one in the city, padding carefully, hoping that he wouldn’t accidentally stumble somewhere he shouldn’t be on his way to find the kitchen.

A pair a voices made him freeze. After a moment he recognized them as Lord Elrond and Gandalf, who seemed to be having a (heated) conversation. Bilbo knew that he probably should keep moving and not eavesdrop but he had always been a curious Hobbit (he wouldn’t be on this adventure if he wasn’t).  

“That dragon has slept for 60 years. What should happen if your plan should fail? If you wake the beast?” Elrond said briskly.

“But what if we succeed? If the Dwarves take back the mountain our defenses in the east will be strengthened,” Gandalf said.

“It is a dangerous move Gandalf.”  

Bilbo had a feeling deep in his bones that Thorin was near him but it was still a shock to see him looming right behind him, dark and imposing, the moonlight catching in his silver beads and his bright eyes. Bilbo felt his stomach drop and mouth go dry. He quickly turned back to the conversation happening below them.

“Have you forgotten?” Elrond almost spat out. “A strain of madness runs deep in that family. His grandfather lost his mind, his father succumbed to the same sickness. Can you swear Thorin Oakenshield will not also fall?”

The rest of the conversation faded out of Bilbo’s mind as the last lines repeated in his head. Madness? Sure Thorin was pig headed and rude but he could never imagine him as… mad. The idea sat heavy in Bilbo’s stomach like a particularly rotten meal.

When he looked back Thorin was no longer the imposing force that he had seen before. Now he drooped, his shoulder hunched with the weight Bilbo suddenly realized he was carrying. His eyes were narrowed and pained and Bilbo had never seen someone look so lost. He wanted to reach out but he kept his hands carefully clenched by his sides. Slowly, Thorin looked up and met Bilbo’s eyes and his heart almost stopped.

Neither of them should have heard what they did but now that they had, there was no way they could ignore it, could they? Bilbo’s entire body tensed as Thorin opened his mouth slowly, as though was going to speak, but then he simply snapped it closed again, scowled, and turned away as he always did.

Bilbo’s lungs deflated and with it so did the rest of his body. Would Thorin ever talk to him? Did Thorin simply think he was not worth talking to? The idea made Bilbo grumble to himself as he turned and made his way to his room. He found that he was no longer hungry.

 

The lodgings that the Dwarves had claimed as their own was actually a small room that connected the many bedrooms that had been laid out for all thirteen of them. However, only one of the rooms were being used and that was by Bilbo. Because the Dwarves were ridiculous they continued to have look outs throughout the night, even though they were perfectly safe. The one keeping watch would sit outside Bilbo’s door not only because it allowed them to see everything, but also because they had that senseless worry Bilbo would sneak out and run away with the Elves. It was only because the bed was so nice he didn’t make a bigger fuss, he simply sighed and allowed it to happen as long as it didn’t disturb him.

When he made it back to the room the company had settled down to sleep (thankfully) so he crept around them and made his way to his room. He briefly raised his hand to wave at Bifur who was on watch (thank goodness it wasn’t Thorin) before scuttling into in room and letting out a sigh. He just wanted to sleep and forget everything he knew and didn’t know about Thorin Oakenshield.

 

Bilbo startled awake at the sound of something hitting his door, not hard enough that it should have woken him but Bilbo had always been a light sleeper with very good hearing (also the trolls and wolves may have made him a bit paranoid).

“Master Baggins.”

It was Thorin. Bilbo sat up and threw the covers off him, rushing to get to the door. But just as he reached out to open Thorin spoke again.

“I would like to talk to you about-. I would like to talk with you.”

Oh he was doing it again. That weird (sweet) thing where he talked to him as though he wasn’t supposed to be completely unconscious. Bilbo felt his lips twitch up into what must be a fond smile. He wondered what he would be hearing this time.

“First of all you should stop making nice with the Elves.”

(Well, that was a horrible start)

“There is no reason for you to be so close with them. They are not trustworthy and they only wish to keep us from reaching the mountain. I know that you value your comfort above everything and they would steal you away with promises of food and shelter.”

(And he spent every moment regretting not taking up that offer, thank you for reminding him)

“You don’t understand these Elves.”

The way he spat that word was nothing new but it still sent a shiver running up Bilbo’s spine. So much loathing packed into a single word. He didn’t understand.

“They’re worth nothing more than dirt.”

There was a pause of silence but when he spoke again his voice was lowered and Bilbo had to lean forward to ensure he would hear every word.

“They came marching to us when the dragon came. We were still fighting, even though it was obvious the moment it came we couldn’t win, we still fought. It was worse than any battle I had been in or will ever be in. We attacked but what we confronted were not bodies or anything we could stab and kill. They were flames, hot and raging from every angle they poured over us. Try as we might but swords pass through flames and do no harm. But for the flames it was different. All it took was a single spark and the mightiest of Dwarves would be engulfed by fire and burn until they were nothing more than a charred shell, blackened and smoldering. We had to leave our comrades scattered across the walkways for you couldn’t bury bones and ash. But that wasn’t the worse part. No, the worse part was how the buildings crumbled, how we tried to evacuate, how entire parts of the city toppled over families, how mangled parts of children could still be seen through the cracks, how no matter how hard you tried you were always too late.”

Bilbo put a hand over his mouth and resisted the urge to choke. He could picture the flames, smell the smoke, envision the way the blood ran down the broken roads. He imagined Thorin standing there in the middle of it. Soot stained and watching his kingdom crumble. He imagined it happening to the Shire and had to push bile back down his throat.

“And then the Elves came marching. Our allies had pulled through. We looked up and saw them and the hate we held for them no longer mattered because for the first time we had a breath of hope. Thranduil, we knew, had battled dragons before and there was a small chance we were going to win this battle in the end.”

Thorin suddenly paused. The silence was loaded. Bilbo longed to break it, urge him on or offer comfort, but there was no way that he could. Thorin didn’t even know that he was listening and he would never actually have this conversation with him, no matter how much he wished he would. He needed for Thorin to continue, he needed to understand.

“They turned around.”

The words were so quiet. Bilbo wished Thorin had spit them out in anger. Had roared them like he did when he was faced with orcs. Even scoffed them as though it meant nothing to him. Anything was better than the soft whisper of someone who had suffered more than anyone should have to.   

“It was only a month later when we had given up fighting and were making our way through Middle Earth, homeless and mourning, did I realize he hadn’t even been wearing his armor when we saw him. He hadn’t marched to fight with us. He had marched to watch us die.”

Bilbo reached out and pressed his hands against the door. He imagined that Thorin was leaning against the other side and maybe, just maybe he would feel the comfort through the thin wood. It was all Bilbo could do and it was not enough.

“A dragon was the one that stole my home but it was Elves that kept me from getting it back. I will not have that happen again.”

Thorin stopped speaking and Bilbo thought that this time their conversation (if it could be called that) was done but Bilbo didn’t move. He kept his hands firmly pressed against the door as though it would do anything.

Then Thorin began to speak again.

“Erebor was amazing. More beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen or anything I will ever see. But more than that, it was my home. Where I was raised, where my father was raised. Ered Luin is nice, I was able to make a safe and comfortable place for my family and people to live. But it isn’t home. It will never be home.”

“It was always meant to be mine, Erebor. I was trained to be King and I spent so much of my time planning on how I could make it better. How I could improve the lives of my people, how I could make Erebor even more grand and plentiful than it already was. And my life, my home was ripped away by gold sickness and dragons.”

“I will not be like my grandfather. They doubt me and think I am weak and that I will fall like he did. But I know better. I care not for gold. We had plenty of it in Ered Luin. I care not for all the treasures in the vaults of Erebor, only for the kingdom itself. That is my home. I need to get it back.   

Then Thorin cleared his throat, the sound shattering the atmosphere.  

“Master Hobbit, stop being alone with the Elves they are untrustworthy. It would make the company more at ease,” he spoke in the harsh way he always did, all sense of vulnerability and softness that had been there moments ago locked back up and hidden.  

It was then Bilbo knew that the conversation was over. He slowly removed his hands from the door and shuffled over to the bed. He sat down, stood back up, paced, and sat down once again and allowed his mind to digest all that he had heard. And it was a lot.  

 

He had wanted to understand Thorin and now he believed that in some ways he did. Thorin, at the end of the day, was just like him. He missed his home.

The thought that they had something in common made Bilbo smile and his stomach do a little flip as he buried himself in his pillow. Home. All this time Bilbo spent wondering about Thorin and what made him the way he did and it all boiled down to a single thing, a thing even Bilbo himself could relate too. It wasn’t bravery, or stupidity, or delusions of grandeur that drove him (though they did seem to play a role), it was home sickness. The simple longing for a place to belong that Bilbo himself felt stirring in his heart every time he thought of Bag End.   

For the first time Thorin was something more than a rude aggressor or a (grudgingly) respected leader. He was someone Bilbo had a connection to, someone he understood. As Bilbo drifted off to sleep felt an overwhelming need he had never had before: to get Thorin’s home back to him. He knew that he would do anything he was asked to accomplish this as improbable and impossible it all seemed.   

Anything, except perhaps, stop being friend with Elves.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one became rather long on accident but the next two will be short interludes before Thorin starts being embarrassing again.


	3. On the Misty Mountains

Those who lived outside the Shire had the misconception that it was utopia where no hardships could be found. This of course was a lie. While it was true that the Shire had not been touched by war or famine in many years and on average most Hobbits were quite happy, life was not all light and celebrations and warmth. There were still years of poor harvests that left Hobbits cutting down their meals and untimely deaths of those who were taken to soon.

Few would believe it but the Shire was a place that suffered from horrible storms. Being a farming people, Hobbits celebrated rain as the gift it was but they were all too aware of the destruction it could cause. They knew of storms that ravaged the land, wind bending trees and shaking window panes, families huddling together in the safest place they could, shuffling out of their houses the next morning and finding trees snapped in two, houses torn apart, and crops ripped from their fields. Bilbo knew of storms.

Yet, not a single storm he had face in the Shire could compare to the one that was currently trying its hardest to blow him off the side of the mountains. The rain came down ice cold and painful, like sharpened knives slicing from every angle. It whipped across his face and soaked his clothes till the waterlogged fabric clung to his skin like weights. As he walked he struggled to blink past the water in his eyes while keeping his footing on the narrow and rough path. Bilbo had been worried about traveling on the mountain (seeing as he had never seen a mountain let alone waked through a whole range of them) but found that his feet didn’t fail him even on the crumbling and (what should have been) painful terrain. However, that was when it was dry. When it was wet it was a whole new story. He had none of the traction that his companions Dwarven boots did and every step sent his heart thumping as he scrambled to keep up with them.

It was an all-around horrible experience but nothing Bilbo couldn’t have suffered through. No, what really pushed Bilbo over the edge to the point where he was ready to scream curses into the sky was when the rocks decided to join the rain.

“Watch out,” Dwalin bellowed         

He grabbed Bilbo and roughly pushed him against the side of the mountain as boulders crashed over their heads. Bilbo felt panic like he hadn’t felt since the trolls well up in his chest. Why didn’t he stay in Rivendell?

“This is no thunderstorm; it’s a thunder battle! Look!” Balin yelled.

Bilbo grimaced. He would have loved to look at the thunder battle Balin, if not for the fact he was more worried about not falling off the side of the mountain now that Dwalin had let him go. Still, some Tookish part of his brain (that had been slowly but surely worming its way out from beneath the years of Baggins control) was screaming about how amazing it would be to see a thunder battle and he found himself looking up despite his fear. He was struck dumb for he could barely wrap his head around what he saw. Stone giants. Stone giants wrestling each other on the mountain side. Goodness, this adventuring thing was astounding.

And then the stone giants were throwing boulders at each other and it was no longer as astounding.

The Dwarves yelled to hold on and Bilbo had no time to even ask hold on to what before the entire mountain was shaking the ground below them began to crumble. Bilbo’s mind whirled as he tried to grasp what was going on, what he needed to do, but the mountain was cracking and the rain was blinding and the Dwarves were screaming and suddenly half of the company was being ripped away.

He heard Fili and Kili screaming for each other and for an odd moment he was more upset about those two being split up than the whole being on the knees of a stone giant in the middle of battle thing (he was getting quite attached to those boys). Bilbo was sure his heart had either dropped to his feet or popped right out of his chest at some point but all he could do was hold on to anything he could and sincerely hope they wouldn’t die.

However, that was a fleeting hope as the knee they were on decided to become close friends with the side of the mountain. Bilbo watched with wide eyes as he approached the rocks. The world almost seemed to slow down and he was aware of everything, his heart beating, his aching feet, his frozen fingers, and his final hope that the Sackville-Baggins didn’t get Bag End.                 

And then someone yelled to jump. So he did.

It was only when he felt the stone he should have landed on slip over his toes and he scrambled to dig his fingers into the slick edged did he realize he probably should have looked to see where he was was jumping. Bilbo wanted to scream but he must have been in shock for his vocal cords were frozen and all that came out was a panicked wheeze. All he could do was kick his legs and hold on for dear life.  

“We’re all right! We’re alive!”

(Speak for yourself Balin)  

“Where’s Bilbo? Where’s the Hobbit?” Bofur yelled out (and oh Bilbo adored Bofur with all his heart at that moment and he would completely forget about that time he made him pass out because he was really a lovely Dwarf).

Ori screamed out his name and dived over the edge, reaching out for him. But even as his fingers brushed Bilbo’s coat, the holding Bilbo had suddenly slipped from his hands and he was falling. The rocks scraped against his body painfully but he barely noticed over the sheer panic that flooded through his veins. It was only luck that allowed him to find another rock to grip and he was back to hanging for his life.

Bilbo could hear Ori yelling for him, his voiced mixed with several others, and when he looked up he could still see him reaching over the edge for him, even though he was much too far away to help. Bilbo really did like that Dwarf and he sincerely hopped Ori would not have to see him die.

But then someone was right next to him pushing him up and Ori and Bofur were gripping his arms and finally Bilbo was back on solid ground. He was glad he had Ori and Bofur on either side, holding him up because he didn’t trust his knees not to buckle the moment he was left to stand on his own. He was left shaking and heaving as the adrenaline refused to let his body or mind settle. He was barely aware of Dwalin pulling Thorin (Thorin was the one who saved him, Thorin) back up the side of the mountain. With everyone now safe (or at least not in immediate harm) the company took a collective breath as their hearts slowly calmed.        

“I thought we’d lost our burglar,” Dwalin said finally.

It sounded much fonder than Bilbo had expected and when Dwalin grinned at him it was still rough and dangerous but he had the oddest feeling that they were going to be friends.  

“He’s been lost ever since he left home,” Thorin barked out, shutting the warm feeling that had been growing in Bilbo’s stomach right down. “He should never have come. He has no place amongst us.”

And with that he growled for Dwalin and the Company began to stumble their way through the mountains again.

Bilbo was urged forward by Ori and Bofur, still hovering by his side with Bomber nervously walking behind laying a comforting hand on Bilbo’s back every once in a while, but he didn’t take much notice of them. His mind still whirled and it had nothing to do with his near death experience (and wasn’t that just ridiculous). Thorin’s words had hurt, more than he had expected. It had been a long time since Thorin had insulted him so harshly and he had allowed his thick skin to thin just enough for him to feel shame curl in his stomach.

They found a cave. Thorin claimed first watch. Bilbo gave Ori and Bofur a weak smile. He found a spot to sleep and curled up without another word. But he didn’t sleep.   

Damn, he was so angry and so hurt. He hadn’t felt like this in weeks.

He heard Thorin pace and Bilbo’s heart suddenly began to hope it was one of those nights Thorin spoke his true feelings when he thought Bilbo was asleep. Thorin would say how he didn’t mean what he said. He would tell him he was sorry. He would explain how the words had slipped out. (He would say he was worried, that he was afraid he would never see Bilbo again) He wanted it to be just like the time on the road before Bree.

_He should have never come._

Not too long ago Bilbo would have agreed. But then Thorin had talked to him in Rivendell and the company had worried about him and he had thought perhaps he was there for a reason. He had actually began to think he was part of this company. He thought just maybe Thorin had begun to see him as part of the company too. Was that just wishful thinking? Was he just kidding himself?

_He has no place here._

It was true. They had no need for him. The falling on the mountain just proved that he was more of a burden than anything. He wasn’t a Dwarf. He had no reason to be on this quest. Why was trying so hard to pretend he belonged? He should have stayed in Rivendell. He should have never left Bag End. There was no need for a Hobbit on this quest.        

But, he wanted so much for Thorin to come tell him he was wrong. (He wanted him to tell him to stay)

He was aware of everything, laying there on his bed roll. He could feel every nerve in his body on high alert. Every scuffle made his heart jumped. His ears strained to catch the sound of Thorin’s voice.      

And then he heard Thorin speak.

“Bofur, your turn for watch.”

The hope that had soared only a moment before plummeted and shattered. He listened to Thorin settled down for bed with a heavy heart. Thorin had meant every word he said. 

Bilbo knew what he was going to do now.

As he began to plan his trip back to Rivendell he felt regret settle heavy and painful in his stomach. Yet, he didn’t know if it was regret for joining the quest to begin with or the fact he would never finish it.     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be much shorter than it turned out to be but I'm pretty sure I say that every time I write something. The next interlude will be short, hopefully.


	4. After Carrock

It would be many years before Bilbo believed he would be able to accurately describe what flying through the air on the back of a giant Eagle was like. He tried to find the stanzas and the rhymes but his mind was rendered a puddle that could barely remember what a poem was. The control he once had over his words crumbled into flashes of feelings and emotions.

Wind.

Hair whipping like a storm

Trees below so far and small

The muscles straining below him as the Eagle flapped

Speed

Clouds razing his head

Feathers clenched between his fingers

Amazement

Wonder

His heart racing

Fear

It was the fear that he remembered the most of the long flight from the Warg and Orc infested cliff. Not because of the height or the speed (which he was finding he actually quite enjoyed) but because the slumped Dwarf clenched tightly in the leading Eagle’s claws. The flight was not long but it was long enough that the wonder faded and all Bilbo was left with was the sudden realization he may have been too late. His eyes stayed locked on Thorin even though he was so far ahead. He strained to see any movement that wasn’t the jerk of the Eagle, yet Thorin laid limp as though he was completely lifeless.

He couldn’t be lifeless.

A sick feeling crawled up his throat as fear curled around his heart. Thorin couldn’t die. Bilbo had jumped in front of a raging Warg so that wouldn’t happen (and it would be incredibly rude for him to still die the way Bilbo saw it). And even before the Wargs, for the first time Bilbo had been able to talk to Thorin like a normal person. There had been no cover of sleep or inability to respond or angrily turning away before words could be shared. Thorin had questioned and Bilbo had answered.

But that wasn’t enough. The company had stopped him from saying more at the time and he knew it wasn’t enough.

Thorin couldn’t die because there was still so many conversations (awake and two sided conversations) they had to have. He had more he wanted to say, things he’s imagined telling Thorin since the first time he talked to him on their way to Bree.

He need for Thorin to respond.

(He needed to know Thorin accepted him)

He wanted to hear more about Erebor (and yes perhaps Balin or Dwalin could tell him about it but it wouldn’t be the same, he wanted to hear it from Thorin).

He wanted to have more late night conversations and at this point he wouldn’t even mind if they were the odd one sided ones Thorin was fond of if that meant he would still be alive to have them.

(He wanted to tell Thorin that he might be starting to-)

But none of that could happen if Thorin was dead.

Bilbo tried to look at the scenery, to enjoy the once in a lifetime opportunity to fly above the clouds but his eyes were drawn back to Thorin (and if he was being honest his mind never left him). Yet, the longer he stared, the more dread began to fill his heart. It became harder and harder to believe he was alive.

When the Eagles began to land he was sure his heart was going to stop. When he stepped off the bird he would know if Thorin was dead or alive. He just didn't know what he’d do if it was the former.     

Gandalf was kneeling by Thorin’s body as Bilbo stumbled off the back of his Eagle. His shoulders were slumped over and Bilbo stomach plummeted. But then Gandalf was sitting back on his heels and Thorin was struggling to stand up, Dwalin and Kili on either side of him. A relief like none he’d ever felt flooded through his veins and he could feel every tense muscle relax and drop. Emotion welled up and got caught in his throat and for the briefest of moments he was sure it was going to push past his lips and become a sob. He pressed his lips together and curled his hands by his sides (to keep him from reaching out just to make sure Thorin is really okay).

He was just so relieved.   

Thorin met his eyes and Bilbo smiled weakly at him, his emotions still running wild.

“You,” Thorin growled out.

(What?)

“What were you doing? You nearly got yourself killed!” Thorin said as he slowly began to approach, contempt burning in each word.  

(What? No. What was he doing?)

“Did I not say that you would be a burden?”

(But. No. No no no. Why was he saying these things?)

“That you would not survive in the wild and that you had no place amongst us?”

(Why? What? How could he? This wasn’t supposed to happen.)

Thorin was right in front of him but Bilbo couldn’t meet his eyes. His words hurt more than they ever had before. Bilbo tried hard to belong but it was clear that in Thorin’s eyes that would never happen (not even if he put on a pair of boots and grew a beard or killed the dragon single handedly). He could feel the hurt slowly settle into bitter resignation.  

“I’ve never been so wrong in all my life.”

Bilbo barely caught the words before Thorin grabbed his shoulder and pulled him into his arms.

(What the hell?)

He stood stiff as a board as his mind tried to process what was happening because he was fairly sure there was no way Thorin was currently hugging him. That was just (a silly dream) impossible. But yet, he could feel Thorin’s hands pressed into his back and his hair tickling his nose and his beard softly scrubbing against his cheek. Bilbo felt a stupid grin stretch across his face and his arms slowly wrapped themselves around Thorin’s waist to return the hug.

The company cheered and Bilbo’s mind echoed them.

For a moment Thorin tightened his grip and chuckled. Bilbo could feel every shake of Thorin’s chest as the laugh rolled through his body (and Bilbo decided it was one of the best feelings he’s ever experience and he wouldn’t mind it happening on a regular (daily) basis).  

When Thorin pulled back Bilbo wanted to say something but all he could think was oh so that’s what his face must have looked like when he spoke to him when he thought he was asleep. He wouldn’t describe it as simply soft, though it was. It looked (loving, adoring, breath taking) fond and seeing it directed at him made Bilbo’s mind splutter to a stop.

And then Thorin was whispering, much like he did for their conversations, quiet and private and sincere.  

“I’m sorry I doubted you.”

(Oh no, Bilbo realized suddenly, he was done for)

“No, I would have doubted me too,” he said honestly. “I’m not a hero or a warrior. Not even a burglar.”

Thorin was still smiling at him as he spoke (and he really needed to stop because Bilbo’s didn’t think his heart could stand it) but then his eyes caught something out in the distance and the moment was gone.

(When Bilbo saw Erebor he agreed it was beautiful but secretly he thought Thorin smiling was something he’d much rather look at.)            

That night when they established camp in the cave at the bottom of the rock and when Bilbo settled to sleep, he could still feel the rub of Thorin’s fur coat against his face. He felt no need to stay awake, desperately hoping that Thorin would come sit by his side and whisper his feeling and thoughts to him as he slept. He had already done that (completely aware Bilbo was awake none the less) and Bilbo was quite sure from this point on they’d have no more of those secret night time confessions, only trust based conversations. It was with that thought Bilbo fell asleep and he was sure he slept better than he ever had before. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The interludes are done so now it's back to Thorin awkwardly talking to Bilbo when he's pretending to sleep. Some extreme fluff is coming, so get ready.


	5. In the Woodland Realm

Before the adventure (and Bilbo didn’t know when he had begun to split his life into before the adventure and after but as time went on it was becoming more evident he couldn’t think of his life in any other way) he would have said that he didn't hate any specific color. His wardrobe tastefully incorporated the entire rainbow, though he did have a preference for a nice deep red and pale yellow. But if he were pushed (and maybe if he had a few drinks in him) he would admit he did have an abhorrence for bright oranges and yellows. This stemmed from the fact they were a particular favorite of Lobelia Sackville-Baggins and she liked to make it the prime color in all her outfits. His mind had decided that Lobelia equaled bright orange and therefore he became irritated and desperate to get away the moment he saw it.

However, after the adventure (or he supposes during the adventure), he was completely and utterly sure that he would never hate another color as much as he did gray. Both the tunnels in the Misty Mountains and Mirkwood had been dark and disheartening but they weren’t colorless. In the mountain Bilbo could look down and take heart in the dirty red of his coat and the faded green of his short and even in Mirkwood, with the trees trying there hardest to keep any light from the ground, he was still able to see the deep green moss growing on the trees and even the brown bark was comforting. Neither could compare to what happened every time Bilbo used his magic ring. The first time the ring had slipped on his finger every color in the world had been sucked away, leaving nothing but shade after shade of gray, layered and smeared until it became hard to know where one shade ended and the next began. It took all of five minutes before the monochrome sight made Bilbo’s skin itch and dread work its way up his stomach. Wearing it for hours and days on end made Bilbo desperate enough that he would have the world in nothing but Lobelia’s bright oranges and yellows as long as it was something other than gray.

Yet, it wasn't safe for him to remove it for even a moment. The moment he stepped into the Elven kingdom in Mirkwood he became trapped in this gray world and he would give anything to be rid of it. Unfortunately, there were only two ways for that to happen. He had to either give himself up or break the Dwarfs out of jail. And he just couldn’t give up. Not when he finally had Thorin’s trust.

So he was stuck in this gray and dreadful world and he could handle that (but was it to much to ask for just a little bit of color, he’d accept brown at this point).

It had been 15 days (or at least he thought it was 15 days, he wasn’t sure which shade of gray meant day yet but Nori kept saying it was 15 days and he believed him) since the Dwarves had all been captured and sentenced to eternity in jail and Bilbo was quite certain he was going insane. It wasn’t just the gray (though that’s what he was going to blame for most of it), it was everything that came with secretly living and moving through a heavily guarded kingdom he wasn’t supposed to be in with his only defense being a magic invisible ring that didn’t protect him from the incredibly strong senses of the Elven guards who, if they caught him, at best would imprison him with his companions (or at worst kill him where he stood) which would lead to him ruining the trust the Company (Thorin) had in him and all of them spending the rest of their lives in Elven prison. And believe it or not, that came with a lot of baggage.

Bilbo had learned the hard way that Elves might not be able to see him but they could still hear him which was almost as dangerous. He was lucky that Hobbits naturally had light footsteps but after the incident of a single absentminded shuffle and an arrow flying a few inches past his ear he made sure every step was thought out. Every noise that he heard became a threat and he would freeze every muscle until he was sure there was nothing there. Bilbo had never been a paranoid person but he was finding that he was becoming one and it disagreed with him immensely. He was only able to sneak a few mouthfuls of food every day, anymore and he was afraid they might start noticing food was disappearing. He was sure that if he asked the Company would share their food with him but they were already given meager meals that he couldn’t bring himself to mention his hunger. And sleep. He did sleep, he was sure he did. He just couldn’t really remember the last time he had but he knew he did. He simply couldn’t sleep unless he was somewhere safe and there was a severe lacking of such places.

But Bilbo was sure that all of that, the hunger, exhaustion, and paranoia, would be much more manageable if he could just see something that wasn’t gray.

 

Bilbo huddled against the pillar he had claimed as his own over these past few day in the throne room as he watched Thranduil lounge in on his throne, making his way through a barrel of wine. He had been there for about an hour (or maybe just a few minutes, he honestly didn’t know) and it was quite frankly boring (he amused himself by playing the game ‘if this stupid ring didn’t make everything gray what color would those guard’s clothes be’) but it had become part of the weak routine he had made for himself.

He hadn’t meant for watching Thranduil to become something he regularly did, it had been curiosity at first. Well, more than curiosity; at first he had been desperate. He had watched as his Company was imprisoned and he found himself counting off much like Gandalf had done before. 1, 2, 3, 4. But no matter how many times he counted there were still only 12 Dwarves. Thorin was missing and every part of Bilbo’s mind was highlighting this fact. He listened to the Dwarves as they talked through the bars. They spoke of Thorin but only carefully. None dared to say it but Bilbo could see they were all thinking the same thing; maybe Thorin didn’t make it out of the Spider nest.

And that was too much.

He remembered the words spilling out of his mouth almost without him realizing it and he was sure they were the truest words he ever spoken simply because he needed them to be.

“I will find him.”

The Dwarves seemed to relax as he said this even though they all knew it was a long shot. Perhaps they needed them to be true as well.

Bilbo searched the prison from top to bottom, checking every cell and following every guard he saw. Every minute that passed without seeing Thorin made the panic Bilbo feel rise. His entire body was electrified, he became reckless in his need to find him. He tried to tell himself Thorin was safe (or as safe as he could be imprisoned in an Elven jail) but that despicable Baggins realism decided now was the time to point out all the evidence that pointed in the contrary. He didn’t know why every time he let himself think that Thorin may be dead it felt like his heart was being slowly ripped out of his chest (of course he did but that was another thing he was going to ignore) but to keep the thoughts from him he threw himself into his search. He wandered until he was sure he had seen every inch of the prison and still there was no sign of Thorin. He stood still hands pressed against his forehead. He couldn’t go back to the Company, not without any new information. He racked his mind for anything, any idea to help him find Thorin.   

Finally, he was struck with his last hope. Thranduil. Without another thought, he ran to the throne room. Surely if Thorin was captured by the Elves then Thranduil would want to see him. Thranduil would lead him to Thorin. The halls of the palace twisted and turned in ways he could barely keep track of (but in time would know as well as the streets of Hobbiton) but he made it to the throne room. Or at least an overhanging room that looked down on it.

From there he saw Thranduil in all his Elven elegance, long robes trailing behind him as he walked away from a snarling person in the middle of the hall. The rumbling curses were familiar and sent Bilbo’s heart racing. When he looked closer it was like his heart was gently placed back in his chest and all sewn up once again. It was Thorin. Thorin who was still yelling and cursing and being the stubborn ass he always was and it was the best thing Bilbo had ever seen.

All the air rushed out of his lungs as he sighed and slid down against the railing. He placed his hands over his face and grinned. He was just so glad he was alive.

The yelling suddenly got even louder and Bilbo shot up. He looked over the railing just in time to see Thorin dragged out of room, on his way to the cells. Bilbo sighed and decided to make his way back to the Company, hopefully without getting too lost.

However, when he made it back to the cells there was no celebrating and smiles and laughter. There wasn’t even low murmuring of planning now that they had their leader back. Something was wrong.

“Where is Thorin?” Bilbo asked.

The Dwarves all snapped to attention and began looking where they thought his voice had come. Only Nori was actually looking at him.

“Aren’t you supposed to be telling us that?” Dwalin grumbled, staring at a wall a few feet away from Bilbo.

Bilbo closed his eyes a resisted the urge to groan.

(Why did he have to go on an adventure with Dwarves? They made everything so much harder than it had to be)

He hurriedly assured everyone that Thorin was alive and was somewhere near he just simply didn’t know how exactly near he was.             

He began his search for Thorin once again. This time he was slower, more methodical, there was no panic and wandering thoughts that he would never see Thorin again. He knew he was alive. Unfortunately he had as much luck finding him this time as he had the last time.

Which lead him to back Thranduil and watching him lounge in various places, drinking wine and on the odd occasion taking care of his Kingly duties. It hadn’t lead him to Thorin yet, and it didn’t seem like it would but Bilbo didn’t stop following him.

(Though he wished he could with all his heart)

Bilbo began to count to ten in his head and when he was done he carefully removed himself from his spot and made his way back to the Company. It had been a while since he had checked in with them, they were probably getting worried. He worked his way through the halls slowly following the path he could probably use in his sleep.

He entered the jail and easily found his way to the cells that held the Company and quickly went to Nori’s cell.  

“Hey Nori,” Bilbo greeted through the bars.

It had taken a while to get used to talking to someone invisible and a lot of the Company were still uncomfortable with it, but Nori had never had a problem from the beginning. He was always able to know where he was simply by the sound of his voice and, if he wasn’t being careful, the sound of his footsteps. Bilbo had spent most of his time talking with Nori when he was with the Company. Mostly because he had a lot of experience sneaking around places that he wasn’t supposed to be, seeing as he was an actual thief (and not just a Hobbit who was thrown into the burglar role by a crazy wizard). His help had been probably the only thing that kept Bilbo from being caught and killed within the first few weeks.           

“Hello there Master Burglar.”

(He really hated when he called him that, he might use it as an endearment but Bilbo couldn’t help but feel like he was mocking him)

“How did spying on Thranduil go today?” Nori sauntered to the bars and leaned up against them so they could speak without raising their voices over a whisper.   

“It went like it always did,” Bilbo said.

“So you didn’t find Thorin?”

“No, not yet.”

“You should give up the Thranduil angle, no matter how careful you are that’s the most dangerous place to be in. It’s not giving results so you should move on and spend more time looking through the cells.”

He had said this almost every day so Bilbo knew how to quickly sidestep this.

“Just give me a few more days, I’m sure he’ll show up soon. And even if he doesn’t there’s only so many times I can go over the same cells and expect a new Dwarf to show up. Besides it’s safer to stay in one place than wander in places I don’t know the guard rotations for. You said so yourself.”  

“You got me there, Master Burglar.” Nori chuckled.

“So there was nothing here?”

Nori grinned at him and Bilbo’s pulse sped up. He got something, it might be little but that was the grin Nori had when he knew something he shouldn’t.

“Well, the guards all speak Sindarin so most of what they say goes over my head but-” And he leaned forwards now. “One guard said something to a new guard, one I hadn’t seen before. He said something about a Dwarf, and though it was in Sindarin I had it thrown at me enough times to know what it means. Elves only say a few words with that much disgust and Dwarves is one of them. So I thought that there was going to be a new guard around but instead she was sent down to the left corridor and she hasn’t come back since. And if he wasn’t talking about us there’s only one other Dwarf it could be.”

“Thorin.”

“That’s right.”

Bilbo smiled, this was the closest he’d been to Thorin.

“I better go look down that way huh,” Bilbo said.

“Wait Bilbo before you go, you need to rest.” Ori piped in suddenly from the cell above.

“He’s right, I can’t even see you and I know that you look like shit.” Nori said.

“No, no. It’s alright. I’m fine.” Bilbo tried to say but they were having none of it.

“You need to take care of yourself. If you run yourself ragged like you’re doing you’ll run yourself right into the ground. Please just rest for a bit,” Dori joined his brothers. He always hated when they all teamed up to try and get him to rest.   

“Look I appreciate the concern but I’m fine. I slept just a bit ago,” Bilbo lied through his teeth. It was a good thing they couldn’t see him, he was a horrible liar.

“Fine alright,” Nori said even as his brothers began to protest again.  “But one thing before you go. I have a message I need to give Thorin when you find him.”

“Of course what is it?”

“Well, I want to make sure it can never get in the hands of the Elves, not that I don’t trust you, but I’m going to give it to you in Khuzdul. It’ll be short so just memorize the sounds okay.”

He then proceeded to grunt something that Bilbo was pretty sure he wouldn’t ever be able to repeat. But after a few minutes of going through each sounds Bilbo was confident he could say whatever it was without butchering it mercilessly.

He repeated it back to Nori one last time and finally Nori pronounced him good enough.

“Okay, I’m going to go look for him. I’ll be back soon I hope,” Bilbo said.

“Be careful,” Ori said. He was grinning at him much like his brother usually did and Bilbo suddenly felt on edge. He hope Nori hadn’t taught him something dirty (but knowing Nori he might just for fun).

Bilbo grumbled to himself and set off to the left corridor that Nori had pointed out earlier.

 

After a few hours of searching from top to bottom and left to right, the corridor had showed him nothing he hadn’t seen a few hundred times before. Bilbo was ready to simply give up and see if Nori had any more information he could share when an Elf guard caught his eye. He had never seen her before and he decided she must be the guard that Nori had seen as well. Bilbo smiled to himself and followed after her. He was amazed to watch as she ducked between a stair case and a giant tree that shaded it. He almost laughed, he would have never found that, even though he had rested against that very tree several times.   

He hastily followed after the Elf with light footsteps, far enough away that he was safe from being heard but close enough that he could still see her in the winding path of the hall. Suddenly the Elf disappeared around a corner and Bilbo rushed forward to keep her in his sights. But when he rounded the turn he stopped dead in his tracks.

There was a single cell, not much bigger than any of the ones that the rest of the Company were in, made with the heavy twisted metal bars and carved stone. And there was Thorin. Sitting in the middle of it. The Elf said something that Bilbo didn’t catch and Thorin sneered at her. He was leaned up against the back of the cell, arms crossed, face set in a harsh scowl and he looked as grand and arrogant as ever. The Elf shoved the food that was on a platter she was carrying through a slit at the bottom of the cell and Thorin managed to looked at it with even more distain than he did the Elf herself (if that was even possible). The Elf turned around and glided away, almost running straight into Bilbo who was still standing in the middle of the hall, dumbfounded. He quickly scrambled out of the way, eyes still locked on Thorin. He couldn’t believe he actually found him.

With the Elf gone Bilbo and Thorin were left alone in silence. Bilbo slowly approached, almost sure that this was a hallucination brought on by too little food and no sleep. Thorin didn’t move from his spot and Bilbo took the time just to look at him. He scanned him, checking him for injuries and when he found none he simply just looked. Memorizing every detail because these weeks had forced Bilbo to realize one day memory might be all he had of Thorin. The thought sent a shiver down his spine and he quickly pushed it away. Instead he just focused on Thorin, alive and well (but gray and Bilbo was ready to melt this ring because of the horrible fact he could not see the blue of Thorin’s eyes).

“Thorin,” Bilbo called out softly as he approached the bars.

Thorin startled from his spot, jumping up into a defensive position. Bilbo almost laughed as he watched Thorin’s head jerk back and forth, scanning for the unseen enemy.

“Thorin,” Bilbo said again, unable to keep a relieved half laugh from slipping out.

“Master Baggins is that you?” Thorin cautiously approached the bars.

“Yes it’s me Thorin.”

“Where are you?” Thorin slowly reached his hand out from him cell.

Bilbo looked around and seeing no one there he thought about removing the ring (and finally being rid of that blasted gray) but that was too risky. A guard could come at any moment. Instead he reached out and grasped Thorin’s hand in his. Seeing him had been wonderful but having the physical evidence of his warm hand in his made all the hunger and exhaustion seem to melt off him (or maybe he was just getting to the point where he was numb enough to not notice it).    

“Ah you see, it’s a long story. But the short version is that I’m invisible,” Bilbo mumbled looking down at his feet.

Thorin squeezed his hand firmly.

“How are the others?” He asked.

“The rest of the Company are all together in a group of cells a few minutes away. I should probably get back to them and tell them I found you. They’ve all been worried. Oh but first I have a message from Nori.”

With only a little struggling (because Bilbo was actually quite good at languages thank you very much even when it was a language of grunts) he worked the words out. Thorin looked as though he was working through what he said and then it seemed too clicked and he tensed up. The grip on Bilbo’s hand (which oh look at that they were still holding hands he should probably stop soon, maybe) tightened.

“Thorin? What’s wrong?” Bilbo asked.

“It’s nothing,” Thorin said, turning his head away and quickly letting go of Bilbo’s hand (and Bilbo didn’t feel disappointed about that because he was just about to do that himself).

“Alright, if you’re sure. I’ll just go back to the Company then. Oh, is there anything you’d like for me to tell them?”

(Hopefully in Westron this time)

“Yes. Wait no. Master Baggins before you go you need to rest.” Thorin said (well less said and more demanded in that way he always did).

“What no. I’m fine I’ll just tell them you’re okay and then I’ll find some place to rest.”

“No. They will be fine. You sound exhausted and if you continue to work while exhausted you’ll be no use to us.”

(No use. Well okay. He was pretty sure Thorin didn’t mean to say it like that but still. Hmm.)

“Here is a perfect place to rest. The Elves only come to give me food and since they have just done so another won’t come for many more hours. You’ll have no interruptions and I will wake you if any guards show up early.”

Bilbo could admit that he was making a convincing argument but part of him still felt like he needed to keep moving (and maybe he was just a bit angry about that ‘no use’ comment).

“But I.”

“No, you need to sleep.”

Bilbo thought about simply leaving because Thorin couldn’t actually do anything to stop him (he wouldn’t even realize he was gone for a few minutes after he stopped responding) but damn he was tired. So instead he threw up his arms and stomped over to the cage.

“Fine okay. I’ll sleep. But wake me up if anything happens,” Bilbo slid down the bars and wrapped his arms around his legs.

“I will.” Thorin promised.

Bilbo sighed in relief and allowed his eyes to slip close. It was only seconds before he fell asleep.

 

Unfortunately, the thing about paranoia was that just because you were asleep didn’t mean that it went away. This of course meant that the sleep Bilbo went into was probably the lightest sleep he’d ever had. It was because of this he was easily awoken at the sound of someone speaking.

“Master Baggins. Bilb-. No. Master Baggins.”

(Oh no please don’t be doing this)  

“I don’t know all of what you’ve been doing these past weeks but I do know that you’ve been pushing yourself. The Company would much appreciate it if you were to also take care of yourself for as long as we were in here.”

He was doing it. The weird pretend talking thing. Bilbo was so sure that they had gotten rid of that after the whole hugging and admitting he was wrong. They had actual conversations now, surely Thorin didn’t need to have these half conversations anymore.  

(Yet, he’d be lying if he wasn’t excited to hear what he was going to say this time)

“Not only the Company but.”

There was a pause.

“Not only the Company but I would also be comforted to know that you were in good health. I believe you are well aware that it is imperative that we escape as soon as possible and if you are tired and weak then it can inhibit your ability to think straight. No matter how important it is for us to escape you must be at full health for it to work.”  

Bilbo resisted the urge to grumble. He didn’t want another lecture on his health and how it would lead him to screwing up.

“But not just to escape.” Thorin said quickly, as though he was retracing his words. “No, it’s important to escape but you should also stay healthy because it’s… good? You need to take care of yourself because it is important for you to stay healthy but not just to escape.”

Thorin huffed out and Bilbo almost expected him to groan.

“I want you to take care of yourself because I do not want to see you harmed.”

Bilbo was certainly not expecting that nor was he expecting the heat that welled up in his face at the words. He was very glad he was invisible.

“I’m afraid earlier my words didn’t come out right. It doesn’t matter if you are of use to us or not, as long as you are well that is enough. Master Baggins you have done much for this Company. You have saved my life, you have saved all of our lives. Even if you never manage to break us out of these jails you have still done more than enough on this quest. Not that I don’t think you can do this, because I truly do.”

Bilbo covered his hands with his face, he couldn’t handle hearing these words. They made his heart pound and his ears burn and if not for that he would have believed that this was just a realistic dream. He had always just wanted Thorin to trust him and although he was sure that he did, it was different hearing it said so sincerely like this. Bilbo wanted to turn around so that he could see Thorin’s face as he talked but he was sure he wouldn’t be able to deal with that.

“It’s just that I would rather have you safe than escape with you sick and hurt. I- I admire you greatly Master Baggins. You are brave and clever and we- I treated you terribly for so long I still sometimes wonder why you stayed with us. But I am glad that I was able to see the true type of person you are because I’ve enjoyed your presence and. Master Baggins.”

Thorin took a deep breath.

“I would like to say. I believe that. I don’t say this lightly but I’m sure that I."    

He paused again and Bilbo felt every part of his mind racing.

“Bilbo.”

(Bilbo died because he was sure his heart had just stopped)

“I- who’s there?” Thorin growled.

Bilbo scrambled to his feet just in time to see a guard stroll into the room. Bilbo spared only a second to glance at Thorin before he quickly turned around and snuck out the hall way.

As he ran he cursed to himself, letting every word he know fall out. He knew he was supposed to be the one person in the Company who was level headed and kind to Elves but really right now he hated that Elf. However, he didn’t hate him as much as he regretted that he would probably never hear what Thorin was going to say next. All he could do was dream that it was what he hoped it would be.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this is late, I am just very good a procrastination. But I finally cranked this thing out thank goodness, I'm so done with this chapter.  
> If you were wondering Nori's message was something like "Tell your boyfriend to sleep" or something equally embarrassing.


	6. Outside the Lonely Mountain

After his little adventure in the Misty Mountains with the fighting rock giants, the falling off cliffs, the goblin armies, and the crazy murder creature, Bilbo was sure that he would never want to even look at another mountain in his life time. Unfortunately for him the entire quest he decided to go on centered on a mountain. So unless Dwarves actually used the word mountain to describe a pretty, peaceful field (which was as likely as Lobelia Sackville-Baggins admitting that she took Bilbo’s nice silver spoons) he was going to have to not only see, but enter one of those giant death rocks.

And yet, to Bilbo’s surprise, when his eyes had caught sight of Erebor from the distance of Carrock, he could only describe it as majestic and he had the strangest urge to see it closer.

One shapeshifting bear man, a never ending enchanted forest, several dozen giant spiders, a resentful Elf King, twelve barrels in a river, a suspicious bowman, and a rickety wooden village on a lake later Bilbo was seeing it closer. Much closer.

The Company trudged together as they made their way to Erebor. They had left the boats they borrowed from Laketown hours ago when they had come to a large crumbled gate. Balin had explained to him this had once been the main docking area for trading ships from Laketown and Mirkwood. The gate was as tall as a tree from the Old Forestand wide enough to fit the entire Took family, cousins and all, through it if they stood side to side. It should have been impressive but it was hard to feel anything but a deep sense of fear and regret when it laid in ruin, crumbled to dust and stained black. The look in Thorin’s eyes as he scanned the gate, clearly remembering what it had looked like before, made Bilbo want to reach out and grasp his arm (but touching Thorin in anyway was labeled a ‘bad idea’ and avoided as often as possible). Instead they picked their way around the heaps of rubble and began the long trek into the mountain.

Erebor, Bilbo found, was nothing like the Misty Mountains. When they made it around the gate he expected a rough and parlous path that would have Bilbo watching his every step and hugging the cliff wall for dear life, but instead they entered a large, smoothly carved road that expanded miles to where the base of the mountain stood **.** It made for an easy walk (if he ignored the heavy pack weighing down his shoulders) but as he continued the scan the area he found another difference. There was no green. The Misty Mountains themselves had a notable lack of green as well, nothing but a scruffy bush here or a stubborn weed there, but it was different in a way. It was obvious that the Misty Mountains were unable to support the lush green plants Bilbo was used to, the compact rock and lack of soil would trouble even the best gardener in the Shire. But in Erebor, Bilbo could see where plant life must have once thrived, the plants that grew in rocky soil that he was sure he wouldn’t recognize if he saw them. However, there were no plants there, only blackened ground. The only plants that Bilbo could see were the odd weed that could only grow in burned soil. Somehow that made it even worse.                   

The air around them should have been tense (seeing as they were heading straight towards a deadly dragon and all) but the Company seemed to be in high spirits. They were quiet, everyone all too aware of the rumors of the powerful dragon senses, which made them seem subdued but there was still an excitement that vibrated between them. The wonder of the quest and the fact the end point was looming above them had hit them all at the same time. They had made it to Erebor.

Bilbo was (sneaking glances at Thorin as he stared wide-eyed and wondrous at his lost Kingdom) staring at the sheer mass and marvel of the mountain when suddenly the Dwarf in front of him abruptly stopped, sending Bilbo bouncing into his back. Bilbo stumbled back as Gloin (who was completely unaffected by the bump, Bilbo noted bitterly) whirled around in surprise.

“Sorry there Master Baggins,” Gloin said. His voice sounding choked and slurred almost as though he was crying (but it also could have just been his accent).

“Gloin is everything alright?” Bilbo asked.

“Aye, nothing to worry about laddie.”

They began to move again, making sure not to hold up the rest of the company, but Bilbo didn’t let it go.

“Are you sure?”

“Aye.” Gloin was silent for a moment, his eyes were locked unblinking on the mountain ahead of them. “I supposed I just realized I had never expected to see this sight again.”

“I didn’t realize you had lived here.”

“My family lived in Erebor since it was founded. My fore-fathers are all buried in the rock and I spent my young years thinking I would be buried there with them. When the dragon came I was still young, not as young as those princes, but I had just met my lovely wife, have I ever told you the story of how I met her?”

“I’m afraid you haven’t.” Bilbo who, as all Hobbits did, loved the sharing of stories, even more when they were about family, would never turn down a good story of meeting one’s spouse.

“Well we’ll have to fix that! It was a little after Durin’s Day. I still remember, the day had just finished and the nightly lanterns had just been lit. Wait, I had been telling you something else before this hadn’t I? Oh yes. I’m afraid the story of how I met my lovely Oddi will have to wait. The dragon came and I had just met Oddi. Suddenly, we were all evacuating as fast as we could, but the flames were still faster. We had to leave everything. If you were separated from your family you had no time to find them, you just had to hope they would find their own way out. Luckily, that day I was helping my brother with something or other, I find I can’t remember why I was with him that day.”

“That’s because you weren’t helping me that day you oaf, you were chattering my ear off about Oddi instead of doing your work,” Oin grumbled from in front of Gloin.

“Shut yer mouth, you always try to cut in when I’m telling a story.”

“That’s because if I didn’t yer story would never end. People wonder why I’m deaf, it’s because you talked my ears off.”

“Now don’t go blaming me for yer weird exploding concoctions. Those things are louder than any forge I’ve been in.”

“They’re medicines.”

“Um excuse me, not to interrupt or anything but I’d quite like to hear the rest of your story.” Bilbo cut in as they both took another breath. He had learned within the first week of the quest that if you didn’t stop one of their arguments soon enough then you wouldn’t be able to.

Gloin sent his brother one last glare before turning back to Bilbo.

“Anyway, I was with him so I was able to get both of us out of there. The next month had everyone in a disorganized mess trying to find their loved ones. Unfortunately, for most they would never find them. We lost almost a quarter of our people when the dragon attacked. We lost even more while we were on the road as we had no way to take care of the sick and hungry.”’

Bilbo thought back to what Thorin had told him about the dragon attack back in Rivendell and how it compared to what Gloin was saying. He wondered if Thorin had had the same haunted look in his eyes as he talked as Gloin did now.

“I found Oddi again about a month into our travels. I asked her to marry me on the spot. The dragon’s attack taught me a lot about time and the lack of it. She agreed just as quickly so I assume she had learned the same lesson. We waited to get married. Until we had a home and could support ourselves. The Blue Mountains are very nice. We have a lovely home there and, with my lad Gimli, a lovely family.”

“So why did you come on this quest if your life was so nice back home?” Bilbo asked.

Gloin turned away from him and stared back at the mountain.

“I guess I never gave up the idea of being buried next to my fore-fathers.”

Silence descended on them, Gloin lost in thought and Bilbo chewing over his words.

“Would you mind telling me about Erebor?”

A warm smile lit up Gloin’s face, making his eyes crinkle. He wasted no time launching into a new story numerous the luxuries of Erebor, the beautiful carvings, the great halls, the jewels, the feasts. It sounded like fantasy and if Bilbo hadn’t seen the things that he had seen on this quest he almost wouldn’t believe it. Bilbo listened with rapt attention but he couldn’t help but sneak a few glances at Thorin’s back. He wondered what he would say about Erebor, what stories he could share about his beloved kingdom. Bilbo wondered if he was at the point where Thorin would answer him if he asked (or would he just wait until he thought Bilbo was asleep to come and spill his thoughts).

Their talk continued until one of Gloin and Oin’s arguments got a bit too heated and a bit too loud and Thorin glared back at them and told them to be silent, deciding now would be a good time to remind them there was a giant blood thirsty dragon that could probably hear every pebble drop sleeping in the mountain. That hushed everyone up real quick (even Oin who had been losing the argument and in turn was pretending he couldn’t hear Gloin and restored to simply yelling ‘what’ at increasingly loud intervals). They walked the remaining hours in silence, slowly trudging up the mountain side, breaking away from the smooth path to a rockier more uneven one that had Bilbo grumbling under his breath as rocks slid between his toes. We can’t go through the front door, Balin had said, we have to take a different way (Bilbo just thought the Dwarves liked to make his life harder than it had to be. No evidence he had proved him otherwise).

Night descended on them and Thorin finally allowed them to stop. They made no fire (once again reminded of dragon senses) but they still set up their camp as though they had out of habit. There was no music and singing and dancing as there had been some nights nor loud heckling and cheering. There was a quietness to the Company that was abnormal but that didn’t mean they were cowed.

Fili and Kili were telling everyone that was close enough to hear them what they would do once they reclaimed Erebor. They spoke of swimming in gold, and sliding down the great stairs rails their mother told them about, finding all the secret rooms the royal children had played in as children, going deep into the mines to see the odd gems that glowed in the dark. When Kili ran out of ideas Fili would pop back in with a story Dwalin, their mother, or even their uncle had told them once that they wished to see in real life.

They spoke as though they had already reclaimed the mountain, that there was no dragon left to slay, no stone left to find, no problem keeping them from their goal. The confidence was infectious. The Dwarves who heard them couldn’t help but join in with their own plans and dreams. Telling of things they did before the dragon came or things they heard of the lost great kingdom.

 Thorin watched them with a heavy gaze. Bilbo could see the waring that was going on his is mind, the contentment at seeing his Company happy and safe and the disapproval at the foolishness of celebrating a victory they haven't yet had. Bilbo saw his eyebrows drop and his jaw tighten, ready to put it to a stop so he reached out and put a hand on his arm. Thorin turned to him and Bilbo gave him a look, one that said "let them have their fun". Amazingly, he smiled briefly before nodding in agreement. Thorin relaxed under his hand (and Bilbo was reminded why touching Thorin was a 'bad idea', it was much too nice (but if the company was allowed to do something foolish so was Bilbo)).

Bilbo took a breath and parted his lips to say something (he didn't know what but it would no doubt be something very stupid because Thorin’s eyes were locked with his and his hand was still against his arm and everything was much too warm) when Gloin plopped himself down next to Bilbo and leaned in close. Bilbo quickly closed his mouth, removed his hand, and turned his attention to Gloin. 

"Gloin, is there something you need?"

"Well, Master Baggins. We had a very nice talk today and I suddenly realized that I don't know that much about you. Even after all this time, which is a bit ridiculous of me.”

“In your defense, I didn’t know much about you before today either.”

“Do you have a family back at the shire?"

"I do," Bilbo said.

Both Thorin and Gloin leaned in, almost surprised.

"You do? You never talk about them!" Gloin exclaimed.

"Well, there’s quite a lot to talk about." Bilbo tried to count off every cousin and uncle and aunt but he quickly gave up when Thorin and Gloin gave him wide eyed (slightly fearful) looks.

"But, you don't have a... spouse. Or children?" Thorin asked in a way Bilbo would have describe as tentative if he didn't know him.

"Oh no. Quite past the time for that if you listen to Lobelia. She's taken to calling me a spinster behind my back. Also thinks I'm just greedily keeping Bag End all to myself."

Thorin humped and sat back as Gloin sent him a smug look. Bilbo decided to not read into, he still didn’t understand some of the things Dwarves did (he blamed all their weird secrets).

"What about your parents?"

"My parents died a long time ago," Bilbo said.

They gave him sad looks, the ones that spoke of understanding.

"So yer alone?" Gloin asked hesitant, frowning at him.

No, Bilbo wanted to say, didn't you hear all the family I listed off? And I have many friends. There’s always someone to invite to tea. I'm not alone in the Shire.

But the more he thought about it, the harder the words came.

"The Shire is my home," He said once the silence stretched too long.

It didn't answer the question but the silence had been answer enough.

"I have way too many Took relatives to ever be alone. Like Flambard Took. He’s quite the character." Bilbo launched into a story about the time Flambard tried to steal his father’s secret pumpkin cake recipe.

It worked. It changed the topic. By the end of the third story involving the time Jessamine’s prized pumpkin was suck in the party tree, Gloin was heaving with laughter and even Thorin was chuckling.  But Gloin was soon drawn into Fili and Kili’s still ongoing discussion, leaving Thorin and Bilbo sitting in silence once again.

"I can't even imagine having such a large family," Thorin said, his voice low and private. It reminded Bilbo of when he liked to speak to him at night, it meant he was talking to no one but Bilbo.

"Large families are the norm for Hobbits. I am actually something of an unusual case, being an only child and all."

"I don't believe that is what makes you an unusual hobbit." Thorin chuckled.

"Is that an insult?"

"A complement."

They shared a smile that lasted a bit too long but Bilbo couldn't care. They sat back and enjoyed each other’s mutual silence.

And then Kili leaped over to him.

"What about you Bilbo? What are you going to do?" He asked him excitedly.

The rest of the company leaned in eagerly.

Bilbo paused blinking in confusion. He hadn't thought of what he would do after the quest (mostly he hadn't even thought there would be an after the quest and if there was it would be in the afterlife) and his mind grasped helplessly for something to say.

"Well, I suppose I'll go back to Bag End," He said.

It was the logical thing to say. There wasn't anything else he could do after all. Maybe spend a bit of time in Rivendell (but he wouldn't tell the Dwarves that) but his dreams always ended with him in his comfy armchair in front of the fire nice and safe (and alone).

Kili made a distressed sound.

"You can't do that. You need to stay in Erebor with us."

"At least for a little while. You could see the halls of a great Dwarven kingdom," Fili joined in, looking equally as displeased as his brother.

"If you get bored you could be a royal advisor or something. Like Balin does. Right Balin?"

Bilbo rolled his eyes but Balin was smiling at him, eyes twinkling.

"Or you could go through the library. They say Erebor had a library just as big as the one in Rivendell." Ori piped in. "I'm sure there's something in Westron or maybe even Sindarin and I can try to translate them for you."

"I could show you the mines. That might not sound all nice now but it’s one of the most marvelous things on this earth to see a mine overflowing with all sorts of metals and gems," Bofur said.

"You at least have to stay long enough to have a proper Dwarven meal. If this stew is all we lived on then we would all be half the size we are," Bomber said. "I could even share some recipes."

(By share Bomber always meant trade, he was a secretive fellow only giving when he knew he'd get something of worth in return.)

The company began listing off thing after thing for Bilbo to do, each one as exciting (and ridiculous) as the last and suddenly Bilbo realized he had another option. He could stay here with these Dwarves that he's grown to call friend, whom he knew he would lay his life down for and would do the same thing him. They had laughed and fought and survived together and Bilbo was connected to them in a way he had never been with any Hobbit. And here they were opening their home to him without a second thought  He suddenly realized he didn't have to be alone.

But it was all too nice and perfect to be true. There was a difference between a friendly offering and something actually happening. He couldn’t live in Erebor, a kingdom of Dwarves, it was just impossible. Bilbo gave them a weak smile and pushed the warm feeling of acceptance down.

"Thank you. It all sounds wonderful. Besides the royal advisor part. I'm quite sure I'm not cut out for that," Bilbo chuckled.

The Company laughed with him and moved on to some other grand idea and Bilbo sighed in relief. But the feeling of being watched persisted, making his neck prickle. When he turned Bilbo found Thorin was still staring at him. His eyes were heavy and wide as though he too had just realized something.

Maybe he had realized Bilbo might stay longer than he thought.

(Maybe he didn't like that.)

Bilbo swallowed the lump that had found its way lodged in his throat.

"Well, I believe I better prepare for tomorrow so I'm going to slip off to bed," Bilbo said.

Thorin seemed to come out of a daze, looking at Bilbo as if he didn't understand what he was seeing.

“Of course,” Thorin muttered coming back to himself. “Sleep well, Master Baggins.”

Bilbo pursed his lips in a sad imitation of a smile and wandered over to his bed roll. He wished for an easy sleep, one he was sure he wasn’t going to get with the way his mind was whirling, but to his surprise the moment his eyes slipped close he found himself drifting off. That off path route seemed to be good for at least something.

His sleep, while easy, was short. His mind slowly came back into consciousness even as he kept his eyes closed tight, hoping he’d get lucky and he’d fall right back to sleep. It was still dark out and the company was quiet (well as quiet as they could be) so he knew he must have at least a little longer to sleep before Thorin rallied them all up to continue their hike. 

“Master Baggins.”

It spoke volumes to how odd Bilbo’s life had become that when he heard Thorin calling out to him in the middle of the night he didn’t so much as twitch. If anything he relaxed and a small burst of excitement shot through his blood.

Thorin was silent (Bilbo hated when he was quiet, it always set him on edge), gathering his thoughts. 

“Bilbo.”

His heart leapt into his throat. It had only been a short time since Thorin began calling him by his first name and every time it hit like lightning, making his chest burst and face hot.

“Bilbo. Today I realized something. I became aware of a future that I do not approve… like. I did not realize that there was a possibility that you would. Well.”

(He knew it. He knew Thorin didn’t want him to stay.)

“While we have been on this quest I have thought little about what would happen if we succeeded. I am well aware this is a fool’s errand, I scarcely believed we would make it this far. But we did. And that is thanks to you, you who has saved us time after time and now you give me hope that perhaps we may even be able to finish this quest after all. You are-. I am getting off topic. Today when Fili and Kili were talking about the future I too thought of it, no matter how foolish it is. And when I think of the future I never picture you-.”

(Please don’t say it)

“I never thought you would-.”

(Don’t say it)

“I know the Shire is your home and Erebor is not-“

(Please)

“Damn.”

Thorin cursed and then took a deep breath.

“It never occurred to me that you wouldn’t stay in Erebor with m- us.”

Bilbo froze.

“You have integrated yourself into our lives on this quest and I suppose you managed to do it to our future as well. Today when I thought of the future, my future, the future of Erebor you were there. By my side.

“But then you said you were going back to the Shire and I felt so foolish. Of course you would go back to the Shire, you have longed for it this entire quest. So I tried to think of the future without you in it.”

Thorin paused and Bilbo tried his hardest to push down his racing thoughts so he could give every ounce of attention to Thorin’s words (there was nothing he could do to calm his racing heart though).

“I couldn’t. I could not imagine a future without you at Erebor cooking or reading or writing or whatever you wish to do. At least not a future that I wished to have. Bilbo. You have become a friend to me even though I have done nothing to deserve your friendship. You are… dear to me.”

Bilbo wanted to turn around and force Thorin to say that once more, this time with Bilbo watching every movement he made. His voice was so soft it hurt to listen to. He could barely imagine the expression that Thorin would make to match his tone. He needed to see it.

But Thorin wasn’t done and he had to stay still, clenching his fists if he could do nothing else.

“Bilbo. I cannot imagine losing you and so I must make a request. Stay. Even as I say this I realize how selfish and foolish and ridiculous and,” Thorin dissolved into grumbling and muttering, cursing himself.

“I know how foolish this is. The Shire is your home. You long for it as I long for Erebor and I know there’s no possible reason you would want to leave it behind. I know. And yet I still ask because I need you. I would provide you with books and arm chairs and all the things you would like but I know it means nothing, not in comparison to home. And yet I still cling to the idea that you might want to stay in Erebor. That one Dwarf King who doesn’t even have a kingdom would be enough for you to turn away from your home.”

Thorin’s words that had been coming faster and faster till he would be rambling if he were anyone else stopped abruptly.

“Bilbo,” he said softly. “I would never want to see you kept from your home, I would never force you to stay, but I never want you to be alone either.”

The words stung.

“I have never been alone in my life, I have had my siblings, nephews, Dwalin, Balin, my people all around me at all time. I have felt lonely but never have I been alone as you have. You try to say you are not lonely and hide behind your numerous relatives but your eyes were much too sad for it to be true. I do not want to see you like that.

“So I ask you to stay in hopes that perhaps you not give up your home in the Shire but you might come to find a new one, with us.”

(I already have, Bilbo wanted to say and he was amazed by how true those words were)

He heard Thorin shuffle closer as his boot scuffed against the rocks and the rustle of fabric and then he could feel the tips of Thorin’s fingers caressing his cheek. Just once. Just enough to leave it tingling.

“Please,” he whispered and it didn’t matter what he was asking because Bilbo was sure he couldn’t deny him when he sounded so desperate.  

Thorin snatched his hand back quickly and hissed something under his breath.

“I’m sorry,” Thorin said.

Bilbo heard Thorin take a heavy step away and for a moment he was sure he was going to sit up. He was going to listen to what every nerve in his body was telling him to do and reach out and pull Thorin back to him. He didn’t want to let another second go by with Thorin believing that he would ever leave him. He wanted to tell him all of the feelings that were pounding in his chest (even the horrible desperately in love ones that Bilbo had spent so long ignoring).

But he didn’t (because he was sure that if he did instead of admitting his own feelings he’d end up staring at Thorin with his mouth opening and closing like a dying fish with no words coming out and Thorin would get angry and flustered and it would all around be no good). Instead he stayed frozen in his spot, listening as Thorin stomped away until he couldn’t be heard.

Bilbo laid in silence and slowly his body began to relax. He ran through Thorin’s words over and over again and warmth began welling up in his chest. Suddenly his face broke into a grin that he couldn’t control. He couldn’t believe it. He struggled to keep himself from bursting into hysterical giggling. He was going to do it. He couldn’t believe he really was going to do it.

He was going to stay.         

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I will finish this. It might just take me 5 years


	7. In Erebor

On the cherry wood cupboard that rested in the corner of the den back in Bag End, there was a golden candle stick. It didn’t have any particular history behind it, unlike most of the things in Bilbo’s home. If he was honest, he couldn’t quite remember if it had been his father’s or if he himself had found it in a little shop and decided it was nice and cheap and bought it. Either way it was just a candle stick he usually used during the fall seasons, the gold went nicely with the leaves’ coloring. It was nothing special, a flat circular base with a smooth pole that broke off into three equally smooth prongs with little cups for the candles. It was nowhere as spectacular as the copper one that had two tiers of 13 total prongs that were able to adjust in a circle to create different ambiances. The only thing that made it stand out was the bright yellow gold it was made out of.

When Bilbo got back to Bag End, the first thing that he was going to do was take that candle stick and smash it until it was a misshapen mess and toss it right into the trash. 

Bilbo never wanted to see another trinket of gold ever again. The simple thought of it made his stomach clench painfully.

Hobbits cared little for gold and jewels. Some might have a few nice gold necklaces or a spiffy silver gravy boat, but true Hobbit fashion surrounded around woods and flowers. A Hobbit who wore too much gold was seen as gaudy and prime victims for horrid gossip (usually by Lobelia). Besides the golden candle stick and his nice buttons on his favorite red vest (which were now laying at the bottom of the Misty Mountains) he had dealt with little gold.

When he first entered the treasure room, Bilbo had been rendered speechless at the expanse of gold and jewels and metals that filled every nook and crack. They glittered like the stars, brighter than the stars even. It was enchanting the way the gold took the dull firelight and spun it into a soft glow that spread across the room. He had been in awe and for a moment understood the Dwarves’ love for such jewels.

However, that was the first time. It didn’t take long for the sight of waves of gold to only make his stomach feel sick. He watched as one by one his company entered the treasure room and, like something had infected them, slowly they began to lose themselves. Their eyes were unfocused when they were away from the treasure, always drifting away until they returned and could bury themselves in whatever trinket they found. Every time they found something new they cheered, yet it always slipped from their fingers in the next few moments as something better, more expensive, more bright caught their attention.   

He couldn’t get the sight of their glazed eyes out of his mind.

Bilbo closed the book he had pulled from the dusty shelves of the Erebor Library with a loud thump. After almost 10 minutes on the same page he finally admitted to himself that he wasn’t reading it, he had too much on his mind to be able to enjoy a nice book (damn those Dwarves for making it like this). He had found the library earlier that day as he methodically explored the ruins of the kingdom.

He remembered how he had rushed back to the treasure room yelling for Ori. He had found him surrounded by emeralds and gripped him tightly by the shoulders and told him about his magnificent find. Bilbo almost sobbed when Ori’s eye seemed to focus and brighten for the first time since he entered this blasted room. Ori squeaked in excitement and stood up as fast as he could, emeralds scattering every which way. Bilbo remembered barely being able to keep up with Ori as he urged him towards where Bilbo had found the library. He thought he had finally snapped out. But then Nori had showed up and showered Ori in bright golden hair ornaments and like that, Ori eyes went back to the glossy captivated state the Dwarves shared. Bilbo had watched with his blood running cold before slowly making his way back to the library.

That was why he couldn’t enjoy it, even though the library was just as impressive (if a bit more dusty and wrecked) as the one found in Rivendell. All he could think about was his friends shuffling through piles of gold like rabid scavengers.

Bilbo shoved the book back into the slot where he had found it with more force than needed. He knew he should have been careful but he was too (scared) angry. He curled his hands up and uncurled them, willing the tension to leave his shoulders (it didn’t work).

He should go on a walk, he decided. That would probably help relieve some of this anger. He pursed his lips into something he pretended was a smile and made his way out of the library.

Forget those blasted Dwarves. They could run themselves ragged for all he cared, because he didn’t. Care that is.

Bilbo was sure that if it hadn’t been for the dragon that had been living there for a century or so, Erebor would have been stunning. It was so different from anything that he had seen before. The high twisting paths reminded him of Mirkwood but Erebor was all hard lines of carved rock, decorated with intricate geometric designs and inlaid with precious stones and metal. Bilbo had always thought stone to be rough and coarse, much like the natural walls of the Misty Mountains, but here everything from the floors to the ceilings was smooth to the touch. It felt pleasant against Bilbo’s feet (after the months of dirt, pebbles, and mud, the carved stone almost reminded Bilbo of his wood floors back at Bag End).

Deep down, Bilbo was sure that he could come to love Erebor. It was so different from his home in Hobbiton, stone instead of wood, sharp lines instead of smooth curves, great halls instead of cozy rooms, but as he traced his fingers against the walls as he walked through the giant passages, his heart began to go out to this Kingdom. Right now it was broken and dark, but Bilbo was sure with just some hard work and warm light he could find a home here.

(But if things continued the way they were now he wasn’t sure if he could stay long enough for that to happen)

While the others were stuck in their gold crazed state, Bilbo had taken to wandering the empty halls, creating a mental map, and looking for any supplies that would be useful. It almost reminded him of his time in Mirkwood except a million times better (if not, oddly, more lonely) just for the simple fact he could see color. The hall he was walking down now led to nothing but a dead end but here the walls and rooms were lavishly decorated. He constantly found himself wandering back this way just to see how the carvings that spanned from ceiling to floor curled and moved. His fingers traced over each carefully etched line, feeling his fingertips rise as it passed over a rounded gem. Lobelia would have thought it to be gaudy (a hypocritical thing coming from the gaudiest Hobbit Bilbo knew) but Bilbo thought it was beautiful.

Bilbo had walked this hall numerous times since he found it and being there was calming. He was alone here, alone and safe.

A loud sigh made Bilbo pause in his tracks. He was sure that hadn’t come from his mouth, perhaps he wasn’t as alone as he thought. Bilbo crept slowly, inching towards the closest room. He held his breath and then quickly peeked his head into the room.        

A Dwarf stood at the far end of the room in front of a large window, hands braced against the sill, and head down. It only took a second for Bilbo to recognize the Dwarf as Fili, with his blond hair shining bright in the sun. He paused and blinked in confusion. What was that boy doing here? He hadn’t left his brother’s side since they entered the kingdom (since they started this quest really).

“Fili?” He called out, hesitantly.

Fili’s head snapped up and he swung around. Bilbo was surprised to see how tense (almost scared) he looked before he seemed to register who was standing there.

“Oh, Bilbo. I thought you were Thorin.”

(It sent a bit of pain through Bilbo’s heart to know Fili could make that face, especially because of his own Uncle)

“What are you doing here?” Bilbo asked.

Fili smiled, but it was sad and bitter. He turned back to the window.

“This was my mother’s room as a child,” he said after a pause of silence.

Bilbo crept in softly, making his way to Fili’s side and looked out the window with him. The view was breath taking. From here you could see all the way down the mountain and off into the lake and even the outline of Mirkwood in the horizon.

“She would tell us stories about her time here. She was very young when the dragon attacked, but she remembered standing by this window and looking out at it whenever she felt sad. She said she thought she could see all of middle earth from here. Kili and I grew up on those sorts of stories.

“Kili and I, we’re not like the others. Erebor wasn’t our home. We were born and raised in the Blue Mountains and we truly love it there, we know nothing else. The others joined this quest because they wanted to reclaim the home that had been stolen from them, even I could see the way Thorin longed for Erebor. But Kili and I, we joined this quest to see where our mother’s stories took place. We wanted to see the staircase that Mother and Thorin would slide down when they were sure no one was watching, we wanted to see the kitchen cupboards that she would hide in and sneak sweets when the cooks weren’t looking, we wanted to see the training grounds where she accidently broke Dwalin’s nose during a play fight. This is why we came,” he said gesturing to the window. “And here I am.”

(The word I spoke volumes, Bilbo realized it wasn’t one he used often)

“Kili and the others,” Bilbo said, but he trailed off.

“It’s gold sickness. Or something like it. But Kili, he’s not like the others. He’s not blinded, he’s,” Fili paused, struggling for words. “He’s just caught up. We don’t care for gold or jewels. When I first entered I was amazed by the sheer amount of gold and it was fun swimming through it all and trying on sparkly things, but it wore off quickly. Why would I care for gold when the places from my mother’s stories are right around the corner? I tried to get Kili to come, but he was just too caught up,” Fili growled out.     

He paused again and Bilbo suddenly realized he spoke a lot like Thorin did, especially the way Thorin spoke when he thought no one was awake to hear him. Fili was a lot like Thorin, in the way he stood, the way he spoke, the way he seemed to carry much more than any one person should. As he stood with his hands curled in tight fists, staring resolutely out the window, tears gathering in his eyes, Bilbo saw someone who was someday going to be a great king of a vast kingdom but right now was still a child. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Fili whispered.

Bilbo laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Well, I don’t know what to do either. But with the two of us I’m sure we can figure something out to get you’re bone head brother and the rest of the Company back to their loud and crazy selves.”

Fili gave him a shaky smile and laid his hand over Bilbo’s.

“Thank you Mr. Boggins,” He quipped.

Bilbo felt laughter bubble up for the first time since he entered this mountain and for a moment everything wasn’t horrible.

“What are you two doing here?” A voice ripped through the joy.

Fili snatched his hand back to his side and he and Bilbo turned around to see Thorin looming in the doorway. His eyes were shadowed and his gaze locked heavily on Fili.

(Bilbo had never been afraid of Thorin but for the first time he felt a shiver run down his spine and his fingers inched towards his ring)

"Thorin," Bilbo started.

"Fili get back to the treasure room. There's no time for you to be shrinking your duties," he paused sneering. "Fooling around. The Arkenstone must be found."

Fili stared his Uncle down for a moment before his tense shoulders sagged and his gaze dropped.

"Of course Thorin," he muttered and shuffled out of the room.

Even with Fili gone Thorin still didn't look at Bilbo, his eyes were still locked where Fili had stood, glossy and lost in thought. Bilbo hated that look (but that seemed to be the only look Thorin had anymore). Bilbo clenched his fists and took a deep breath.

"Thorin, when's the last time you slept or ate?" He asked.

Thorin snapped his attention to Bilbo and narrowed his eyes, almost as though he didn't understand his words.

"I don't need to eat or sleep I need to get back to the treasure room," Thorin said. He turned around to leave but Bilbo leapt forward, grabbing his shoulder.

"Look Thorin, you're exhausted and I know you haven't eaten today, and who knows about this week. The rest of the company is in no different state than you. You all need to rest. The Arkenstone isn't going anywhere, you can take a break," Bilbo practically begged.

Thorin ripped his arm from Bilbo's grasp.

"You don't understand," he spat. "Food and sleep are not important to me while my quest still remains unfinished. But a creature who cares of nothing but his own comfort like you wouldn't be able to grasp such a thing."

(Oh he did not)

Bilbo had heard the expression seeing red before, now he thought he finally understood where it came from. Rage roared through his veins and he clenched his teeth down tight. He opened his mouth, words of spite curling on his tongue, but at the last second he caught sight of Thorin's face. His eyes were wide in fear and confusion, as though he just realized what had come out of his mouth. The anger evaporated instantly leaving Bilbo feeling nothing but heavy exhaustion.

"You stubborn Dwarf," Bilbo whispered. "Fine, if you want to die looking for a pretty stone, go ahead. I don't care anymore."

Bilbo pushed his way past Thorin, through the door.

"Bilbo, wait," Thorin called.

Bilbo ignored him and kept walking, he couldn't look back. Well, he could but he didn't know what he would do if he did (he didn't know what he would do about anything anymore) so instead he just kept walking. Thorin didn't try and call for him again.

 

 

Bilbo made it to the small room he had claimed for his own and paused in the doorway. He felt the need to scream but he was sure that if he opened his mouth the only thing that would come out would be pathetic so he kept his lips pressed tight. He felt as though he was one of the buttons on Rudigar Bolger’s waistcoat and any moment he would pop off and land straight in someone’s eye like at Chica Chubbs and Bingo Baggins wedding. Bilbo took a deep breath, entered the room, and fell face first into the bed he had found. The pillows and blankets were musty and moth eaten but compared to the bedrolls and dirt floors, he wouldn't have been happier if it was his own bed from Bag End.  It took only moments for his eyes to close and for Bilbo to fall into a much needed sleep.

Bilbo was having a wonderful dream about one of his more memorable experiences under the party tree back in Hobbiton, when he heard something that was certainly not coming from his dream. It was deep and inconsistent, sometimes loud and fast, other times just a whisper. Bilbo pushed through the cloud of sleep and slowly his senses began to sharpen. It took only seconds, once he had his bearings, to realize what he was hearing. It was Thorin.

"It was resting there, so casually. What gives that boy the right to do as he pleases? Does he think he can just lay his hands on you when he wishes?"

This felt so different from every other time Thorin had talked to him. Thorin was muttering, pacing back and forth. What he was saying made no sense and for the first time he really wished Thorin would just stop.

"He should be punished for his insolence."

(Who should be punished?)

"His hand should be cut off for touching you. He has no right. No one has that right. No one should be touching you like that."

Fili, oh no, Thorin was talking about Fili. Bilbo thought he was going to be sick.

"But. But you weren't bothered by his hand," Thorin mutter to himself and then was silent.

"This is why I need the Arkenstone," he suddenly exclaimed. "It all leads back to the Arkenstone. If I have it I can win your affection. Why would you care for me without it? Without it I am just as lowly as I have always been. You would never accept someone like that. But with the Arkenstone I would show you... I would show you I can give you more than all of them."

(Please stop, he didn't want to hear these things)

"None of them deserve to have you, not even me. But with the Arkenstone I will. But what if. What if they try to take it from me? They will surely take you from me as well. Those thieves and liars, all of them are trying to steal you and our gold from me. Even the Elves and Men. They would take all I care for like before. But I won't let them. I won't let them have you or our gold. They won't take a single gem from me. Not a single coin. It is ours. All ours."

The pacing suddenly stopped. There was silence and all Bilbo could hear was Thorin's ragged breathing and his own slamming heartbeat.  Bilbo held his breath and silently hoped Thorin would just leave. Each word left another tear in his heart and if Thorin talked for much longer he wasn't sure he'd have any heart left.

The silence was broken with a loud thump that had Bilbo's heart leaping up into his throat. He peeked his eyes open to see Thorin had thrown himself against the wall, head held tightly between his hands.  

"What is happening to me?"

Thorin shook his head slowly.

"These thoughts, I don't understand where they come from. I've never had such thoughts before but now they're constantly in my mind. They're consuming me. Gold, gold, gold. At times all I can think about is the treasure room and the Arkenstone.

"I don't understand. Why do I care so much for this gold? I can tell myself I do not, I try to leave the treasure room. But as soon as I'm gone I long to be back. Less and less I'm able to make myself leave, less and less I am able to think clearly as I once did. Gold, what do I care for gold? Gold was the down fall of my Grandfather. Is it to be my downfall as well? Am I no different than my Grandfather?"

Thorin let out a shaky huff that was much too close to a sob. Bilbo was shaking in his bed, he wanted to reach out and he cursed everything that he was stuck pretending to be asleep. He felt useless.

"It must be the Arkenstone," Thorin said suddenly. "Once I find the Arkenstone, these thoughts will fade. I need to find it. I must go right now. It was foolish of me to ever have stopped searching."

Without another word, Thorin ran out of the room. Bilbo laid in his bed frozen. He felt like every part of him was being ripped to shreds but he was too numb to feel.

(He didn't know what to do)

He closed his eyes and pressed his lips firmly close, ignoring the way his body started to shake.

He didn't know what to do.        

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized that I started this in July last year and then I stated to cry. One more chapter, I'll hopefully get it out before July of this year.


	8. To Thorin

There were few things that Hobbits enjoyed as much as a good story. Truth or tale, it didn’t matter to them as long as it made them laugh or cry or even both at the same time. Stories were what parents turned to to entertain their wild fauntlings, what courting youngsters used to impress their beloved, what enemies used to prove themselves better than their nasty neighbor. And where ever one would find a Hobbit weaving their tale, they would also find one writing it down, another story to proudly place in the Hobbiton Archives. The Archives was nothing compared to the libraries of kingdoms such as Rivendell but (ignoring the party tree) it was the crown jewel of Hobbiton. Bilbo spent much of his time working his way through the shelves upon shelves of papers, books, journals, and even quick tales scribbled on the back of napkins that could be found there. He made his way through family histories, wild exploits of silly fauntlings, farming technique guide books, recipe books, anything that was important to Hobbits could be found in the Archives.

That explained, perhaps, why there were so few stories of war in the Archives. Hobbits cared little for tales of battles and death (especially when they were concerning the boring politics of outside people). Why would they want to hear of bloody beheadings and tragic betrayals all centered around some ridiculous jewel when they could be listening to the story of a first meeting of sweethearts or a magical encounter in the Old Forest (or the nastiest piece of gossip Lobelia could pull out of her oversized hat). For all the time Bilbo spent listening to stories and wandering through the Archives he had heard only a handful of stories of war. In his younger years (back when he still wished to be an adventure) he would search for such stories, begging Gandalf for a thrilling battle song or leafing through the shelves for anything resembling such stories. He had loved them. They made war sound so exciting, noble, and thrilling.

Stories, he should have realized, were not always to be believed.

 

Chaos.

Chaos and panic. That was the best he could describe the entire event. The stories always seemed to have clean lines with clear battles, one on one, Elf on Orc. But that was another lie. War was everywhere, everything at once. Swords flew at all that moved, friend or foe, it didn’t matter. They had to keep striking less they get struck themselves. Bodies fell without second glances, left to be trampled and tripped over. Loud. It was so loud. Voices in Sindarin, Khuzdul, Black Speak, and Westron, horns, screams, metal striking metal (sometimes worse metal striking something other than metal).

Bilbo felt no excitement as he swerved through the battle field unseen, striking when he had to (hoping desperately what he hit was an orc), running when he could. All he felt was deep set panic and fear.

It all was more terrible than he had ever imagined. But Bilbo found the biggest lie war stories had told was not about the battle itself but what happened afterwards.

The end of a battle hard won was a celebration. Your enemy slain, you throw your weapon up and cry out in triumph. You march off the field with your brother’s arm around your shoulder and your head held high, confident, victorious, exhilarated. Bilbo was sure that was how it was supposed to go.

The horns blew to signal the end of the battle but Bilbo felt no pride, no peace, no emotion but the desperation that clawed through his heart. He was knelt on the frozen ground, his shaking hands pressing against Thorin’s chest. The wound was deep, a savage rip that had been cleaved out seconds before Thorin’s sword had finished the battle. He had no medical knowledge. All he knew was that when blood appeared you applied pressure. He could apply pressure.

Bilbo felt bile rise in his throat as blood seeped between his fingers.    

“Come now Thorin. Just stay with me please,” Bilbo begged, voice as shaky as his hands and Thorin’s breath. “The eagles are coming.”

Thorin smiled dazedly, looking up at him as though he was a dream. It was a lovely smile beneath the blood stained teeth and dirty, cracked lips (his eyes were still so bright and blue it made Bilbo’s chest throb).

Thorin’s lips parted trembling but Bilbo couldn’t bare to hear him speak, fearing it be his last time.

“They’re almost here Thorin. Don’t give up now. There’s much to do, you better not shrink on your duties now.” Bilbo pushed on.     

Thorin’s eyes fluttered and Bilbo’s own became blurry.

“No Thorin,” he whispered, moving a hand to cradle his cheek. He left red streaks on Thorin’s increasingly pale face.

Thorin smiled as his eye lids dropped close.

“No, Thorin. No!”

Suddenly, claws wrapped around Thorin’s body, ripping him away. Bilbo shrieked, raw and harsh, his trembling hands flashing to his sword.

“No,” he yelled.

He lunged to attack when his arms were gripped tightly, holding him back. He struggled frantically, waving his sword in any way he could, desperately trying to break free.

“Laddie, calm down! It’s the eagles. They’re taking Thorin to the healing tents. It’s ok!”

Bilbo whipped around the second he was released, wild eyed.

“Dwalin. He, Thorin, he…” Bilbo choked, tears spilling out faster than he could wipe away.

Dwalin stood in front of him looking like a faded memory. He had been through war (the true, bloody, dreadful kind) and though he seemed to thrive on the heat of battle, that adrenaline had long left him, leaving him empty and exhausted. His shoulders were slumped as though he held every life that was lost in this war on his back. It seemed impossible that something could make Dwalin, who was so large and fierce, seem so small.

Suddenly Bilbo felt foolish to be crying. Who was he to cry for Thorin, whom he knew for only a blink of an eye compared to Dwalin? Dwalin had been raised with Thorin. Taken every step, fought every battle, lived every moment by his side. He even followed him on his fool’s errand of a quest, when all of his people refused to do the same, simply because he was his friend. Dwalin had every right to cry. Bilbo though he cared for (loved) Thorin with every inch of his heart he couldn’t hold a candle to that flame. And yet, Dwalin stood sturdy while Bilbo was a blubbering mess.      

“Dwalin.”

Bilbo didn’t know what he managed to convey with a single name but the words whispered through the air and Dwalin seemed to shudder. Tears began to slip from Dwalin’s eyes, silently and slow, almost as though they didn’t want to alert him to their presence.   

“I can’t lose anymore,” Dwalin said.

In so little Dwalin had said so much (Bilbo knew there was another child in the royal family, he knew Fili and Kili were not birthed from a single mother, he knew Gloin and Oin were not the only people to lose family when Smaug came, he knew but he didn’t ask).   

Bilbo watched as Dwalin’s shoulders began to shake and Bilbo ached for him, for the emotions he understood and the ones he couldn’t. Bilbo reached out as he had seen others do before and gripped the back of Dwalin’s head tightly. In a brief moment of humor he imagined slamming his head against Dwalin’s in traditional form but instead he brought their foreheads together gently. Dwalin pressed into him, hand reaching up to grasp Bilbo’s neck. He could feel the comfort that he was leaching from Dwalin but he could also feel the comfort Dwalin pulled from him. The wind whipped around them coolly and the wails and noise from the battle ground rose up, reminding them they weren’t done, but they didn’t move.     

They stood together until their tears no longer flowed.

 

 

 

“You know what would truly make me feel better? An extra piece of pie. I think with a second piece of pie in my system I might even be able to walk.”

Kili was looking up at him with wide and honest eyes. He was the picture of innocence, taking the moment to tug at the bandages wrapped around his chest to accent his injury.

Bilbo tutted. “You think so?”

Killi’s face turned hopeful and Fili grinned at them from the bed next to them.

“I’m completely sure. Swear on my sword,” Kili pronounced heartfelt.

Fili cackled.

Bilbo was well aware Kili had used this argument on 3 people before him, all successfully, but he would give Fili and Kili the heart out of his own chest if they were to ask him. There was really only one thing he could do.

“Well if you’re so sure,” Bilbo said and handed Kili his own slice of pie.

Kili beamed like he saved his life single handedly and that was all Bilbo needed to feel completely content with his choice.

He smiled fondly back, patted Kili’s knee, and got up to leave. He could practically feel Tauriel’s stare as she hovered outside the boys’ room. She had slowly been warming up to them but she still seemed to think she wasn’t welcome to be with them. Tauriel was strong and quick witted and had easily won the respect of the Company during the battle but she looked at them with mistrust (thanks to years of conditioning from Thranduil) or fear (that they would ban her from being there). It made for a lot of stilted conversations and a lot of searching for common ground.

Bilbo said his good byes to the boys and made his way out of the room. He smiled at Tauriel as he passed, she sent him a hesitant nod and strode into the room so confidently it almost convinced him she wasn’t running away from him. Bilbo sighed. He hoped she would settle in soon, he would so love to speak with her about more than Kili’s well fare (as much as he cared for the boy).

“You’re spoiling them,” Dwalin said.

He was seated outside the boys’ room in a large stone stool, a whole arsenal surrounding him (he was guarding them he said and no one had the heart to ask him from what).

“Oh please, don’t act like you weren’t pie number three.”

Dwalin grumbled and smacked him with the side of his ax. Bilbo squawked indigently.

“Uncultured Dwarf,” he muttered.

“Fussy Hobbit,” Dwalin muttered back.

They had grown close since Ravenhill.

Bilbo waved goodbye to Dwalin and made his way down the hall.

The last week had been chaotic to say the least. Affairs with the Elves were easily dealt with, considering the circumstances. The Elves were given their shiny gems and some frame work for future treaties and were quickly on their way, only Tauriel staying behind.

The Men, that was a bit harder. Their gold was handed over with no more argument but that didn’t change the fact that Dale was currently inhabitable and Erebor was only slightly better, seeing as at least the stone hadn’t rotted and collapsed as much as Dale had. Balin had declared that anyone seeking refuge could find a place in Erebor’s halls if they so desired, even though Erebor’s halls were rather worn down and dark at this time. Bard had thankfully accepted but was quick to assure them that his was a temporary set up, he wished to have Dale rebuilt as soon as possible. The mountain was now overflowing with people coming and going, planning and preparing.

After the battle most of the company escaped only with scrapes and bruises and were oddly finding themselves in positions of more responsibility than most of them cared to have. Kili and Fili barely survived a little incident of overenthusiastic heroism that landed them respect among Dwarves, Men, and Elves alike and matching stomach scars. They were alive but hadn’t been able to do much more than lie in bed and heal (much to their, and anyone who had to care for them’s, annoyance).

And Thorin. Well, Thorin was still asleep.

Bilbo pushed open the door to Thorin’s room. The breath he held quickly was released when he saw Thorin’s body laying still tucked in, the white sheets undisturbed by movement. It was only the slow rise and fall of his chest that proved that there was still life in him. It was a movement Bilbo relied on for most of his strength.

Thorin had been seconds from death when the eagles got him to Oin. He was able to save him but Thorin hadn’t even fluttered an eyelid in the week he’d been in the chamber. Oin said that Thorin had been so close to death his soul had left his flesh and gone to the Halls of Mandos not realizing his body still lived. It now had to find its way back (“And we all know how Thorin is with directions,” Oin would grin and Bilbo would smile because he was surprisingly good at this fake smiling business) before Thorin could wake. All they could do was wait. Bilbo could wait.

Bilbo sat down in the chair set out beside Thorin’s bed. He spent a lot of time here (he was the reason there was a nice pillow on the terribly uncomfortable stone chair) but not as much as he wished he could. He wished he could spend every moment he was awake by Thorin’s side, waiting for him to wake up, but unfortunately all three races decided that him being a Hobbit made him as impartial as one could get and was forced to sit in as many meetings as they could guilt him into. They completely ignored the fact he knew nothing of running anything even resembling a kingdom but they seemed to take his words as law. It made him regret he ever got involved with other races.

The silence sat heavy on Bilbo’s neck as he sat, only the faint huff of Thorin’s breath broke the stillness. He traced his eyes over Thorin’s face, searching for a change. A twitch of an eye was all he wanted, just something that would let him know he would be able to see the blue of Thorin’s eyes again.

“Thorin,” he sighed, breaking the silence for the first time.

Thorin didn’t twitch.

Bilbo wanted to scream, there were so many things crawling their way through his heart. He had so much to say, so many things they never got to speak about. He hadn’t been able to tell Thorin his true feelings and every day the fear that he would never be able to grew stronger. Perhaps the only thing more frightening than never getting to speak of his feelings was the idea of getting the chance to. Even though the words were knocking against his teeth, begging to be free, he had no idea how he would force them out. When it came to words like this, he was no better than Thorin, worriedly practicing his speeches to Bilbo in the middle of the night.

(Wait.)

A smile curled up on Bilbo’s lips, small but real. He scanned Thorin’s still face and took a deep breath.

“Thorin,” he said again.  “Thorin I. Hmmm.”

This was harder than he thought. There was so much running through his head but he wasn’t sure how to make it come out. He wanted to blurt out everything that he felt but even with Thorin as still as a stone it felt too frightening. He had guarded that secret too close for too long. Maybe a different secret.

“I never told you this but,” Bilbo began again. “Well, all those times you talked to me while I was sleeping, I wasn’t sleeping.”

He paused, waiting for a response before he realized he wouldn’t be getting one. He took another deep breath.

“I was awake. Well, I suppose maybe I wasn’t awake for all the times because I wouldn't know if I wasn’t what with me being asleep and, but yes. I was awake for a lot of them I think.”

Bilbo was so thankful Thorin was asleep because to ramble this way in front of him would have sent him to an early grave. He almost regretted that he was awake for Thorin’s conversations for if Thorin ever found out surely he would ban Bilbo from Erebor out of humiliation.

“I never told you this because I didn’t want to embarrass you.”

No, Bilbo was supposed to be honest. There was no lying in this moment.

“Alright, no. I didn’t want to embarrass you but mostly I didn't tell you because I didn’t want you to stop doing it. I liked hearing you talk. It was odd at first, but soon I began to look forward to it. I learned so much when you spoke to me, you were so honest and open and I… I grew to respect you and admire you.”

Deep breath. No lying.

“And, and I grew to love you.”

He paused. There was of course no response, there wouldn’t be, that’s why he was able to say it.

“Now I understand why you did it, talking to you like this I could tell you anything and it wouldn't make a difference.”

Bilbo laughed, feeling like a chain had lifted from his back.

“I love you. I love you with all my heart since you spoke to me while you thought I was sleeping about your home while in Rivendell. I think your eyes are beautiful and your hair majestic and your voice lovely. I dream of kissing you and holding you and never letting you go. I want to bake you my father’s secret plum pudding recipe that he wooed my mother with even though it’s a rather terrible recipe. I want so many things. I've never felt happier than when I'm by your side. You’ve changed my life in so many ways that I could never picture going back to my old one. Not happily in any case. I love you so much.”

Bilbo wasn’t even sure what had come out of his mouth, the words rushing out without analysis or thought. It was freeing.

“And one last thing,” Bilbo whispered his eyes closing in thought. “I was going to stay with you.”

“You would have stayed?”

Bilbo’s eyes shot open and his heart stopped.

“Thorin, you're awake.”

Thorin was looking up at him, his blue eyes wide. His breathing was even but his eyes seemed dazed, wandering over Bilbo’s face. It reminded him of how he looked up on Ravenhill, the same puzzled expression as though he wasn’t sure what he was seeing was real. Joy bloomed in Bilbo’s heart.

Finally, he was awake.

Suddenly, the joy froze in his throat.

“Thorin, you’re awake.”

(Well Bilbo had a good run, 51 wasn’t a terrible age to die at)

The silence was thick as Bilbo waited for Thorin to get his thoughts in order.

“Yes,” he said roughly. “And apparently so were you.”

Bilbo winced.

“You heard that did you?”

“Yes.”

“All of it?”

“I believe so. As you said, being asleep I wouldn’t know what I didn’t hear.”

Bilbo let Thorin’s words sink in. If he heard that then he really heard everything.

“And you heard me,” Thorin said stiltedly, nervously.

Thorin’s eyes were slowly coming into focus and the dazed looked was hardening into something unreadable (but if Bilbo were to take a guess at reading it he would call it mortified).

“Yes,” Bilbo said.

“All of it?”

“A lot of it for certain.”

Thorin let out a harsh word that could be nothing but an expletive.

“I don't know what that means but I agree.”

Silence rang as they stared at each other. Bilbo suddenly realized that Thorin had just woken up from a week long comatose, this was no time for Bilbo to worry about his silly feelings (or if Thorin was going to want nothing to do with him, kick him out of the mountain, and never speak to him again for the rest of his days).

“Do you need anything? I should really get Oin.” Bilbo said worriedly, rising from his seat and heading towards the door.

Thorin reached out and weakly grabbed Bilbo’s fingers. Bilbo froze in place.

“Were you really going to stay?” Thorin asked.

His question was shaky even as he stared into Bilbo’s eyes determinedly. Bilbo carefully approached the bed again, heart beating loudly in his chest. He sat on the edge and reached out, caressing Thorin’s cheek softly. He waited with baited breath for Thorin to jerk away but instead he leaned into the touch, relaxing into Bilbo’s hand.

“I would stay by your side as long as you would have me,” Bilbo said firmer than his fluttering heart felt.

“Please stay,” Thorin said.

“As long as you would have me,” he repeated.

“Then forever. Stay forever. I love you Bilbo.”

Bilbo began to wonder if he had actually died in the battle. For surely something as wonderful as this couldn’t happen in real life. He smiled bright and leaned in to brush a soft kiss to Thorin’s lips.

A thought struck him

“I think I will. On one condition.”

“What? Anything,” Thorin said hastily.

Bilbo laughed.

“Please, can all our conversations happen while both of us are conscious?”

Thorin smiled.

“I believe I can do that.

 

 

 

Most of the homes in Erebor had no windows to the outside. Dwarves, it seemed, felt no need to feel warm sunlight on their skin and needed no light to help guide them from day to night, their internal clocks the best out of any race. However, as Bilbo liked to remind people, he was not a Dwarf. He had huffed at Thorin until he finally gave in and allowed the ‘Royal Bed Chamber’ (so ridiculous) to be moved to a room where a large window could easily be carved in.

Thorin had hated it at first. Or at least he pretended to hate it (Bilbo was sure Thorin hated most things on principal rather than any true spite for the thing in question) and would constantly grumble saying things like the moonlight made it hard to sleep. Bilbo would just say he was going soft in his old age and that made Thorin offended enough to stop grumbling for a while (that’s how Bilbo won most of his arguments truthfully).

After a while though, Thorin began to accept it, even enjoy it. They liked to sit by the window and watch the sunset. Sometimes they would go through paper work and petitions from their people as the sky slowly turn from blue to red to black but sometimes they would just hold each other and reflect on all it took to get them to this exact point. Bilbo would come in to find Thorin staring out over the land the window opened up to, deep in thought. Thorin said he liked the reminder that there were Kingdoms, people, outside of the mountain, that they were not the only ones trying to survive in this world. It was something he thought his grandfather forgot in his greed.  

Many people said that Erebor had blossomed into a Kingdom that was more magnificent that it had even been in its prime before Smaug. Bilbo had been there every step of the way as the Dwarves rebuilt Erebor from the (almost literal) ashes. It was not the same Erebor that existed before the dragon, Thorin would say. It wasn’t even the same Erebor that existed before the Gold Madness. It took time for Thorin to accept this, but just as he came to accept the window, he found he preferred it this way. Erebor was not the same, it was better just as Thorin had always hoped he could make it.

 

The sun was just rising, its first beams barely peeking up over the sill of their window. They had forgotten to close the curtains last night so the light tickled his eyes, nudging him into awareness. Bilbo grumbled and opened his eyes. He glared at the light, today they were supposed to be able to sleep in and no matter how much he loved his window he still wasn’t going to forgive it for waking him. Bilbo glanced down at the Dwarf by his side and felt all irritation melt away.

The sun danced in Thorin’s white hair, making it shine, and warmed his skin till it glowed. Though it was wrinkled and spotted with age, the sharp jaw and strong brow still made him seem as majestic as he had when he first walked into Bag End.

Bilbo smiled and tucked a fallen piece of hair out of Thorin’s face and behind his ear, marveling at the silky touch. He was struck for a moment with intense emotion. Words of love crawled up his throat and weighed down his tongue, begging to be let out, to shower Thorin with every ounce of love that he felt in that moment and every moment for the last few decades.      

He almost regretted the promise they made so long ago. Bilbo sighed as he tucked himself back into Thorin’s arms.

Almost.

Because at the end of the day, Bilbo was a Hobbit and Hobbits have very few regrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It only took a year but I finished. Thanks for reading and sticking with it.

**Author's Note:**

> This was going to be just a one shot but then it got long so it turned into a chapter fic. I'll try to update it regularly and I lucky have more chapters written already to it may not be a disaster. I'm sorry that I make Thorin such an embarrassing little nugget but I cant help it.


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